SEA  AND  BAY 

CHARLES  WHARTON  STORK 


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SEA  AND  BAY 


SEA  AND   BAY 

A  POEM  OF  NEW  ENGLAND 


BX 

CHARLES  WHARTON  STORK 

AUTHOR  OF 

"day  dreams  of  GREECE" 

AND 

"the  queen  of  orplede'* 


NEW    YORK 
JOHN    LANE    COMPANY 

MCMXVI 


Copyright,  1916, 
By  John  Lane  Company 


Press  of 

J.  J.  Little  &  Ives  Company 

New  York.  TT  S.  A. 


TO 

PAUL  DOUGHERTY 

PAINTER  OF  THE  SEA 


PART   I 
BAY 


Bay   Song 

Trustful,  dimpling,  blue-eyed  bay, 
Glad  at  rest  and  glad  at  play, 
Like  a  babe  beneath  the  eye 
Of  thy  virgin-mother  sky. 
Whose  bright  ecstasy  of  love 
Makes  thee  smile  to  her  above, 
Scarce  a  shadow  born  of  earth 
Dims  thy  soul  of  heavenly  birth. 

Little  winds  thy  curls  caress, 
And  sometimes  for  wantonness 
Thou  dost  lightly  pout  and  frown. 
Tossing  fretful  up  and  down. 
Till  it  might  seem  thy  tender  form 
Felt  forebodings  of  the  storm. 
But  soon  thy  fears  are  put  to  rout 
And  winsome  laughter  dances  out. 

Careless  we  beside  thee  born 
Share  the  sparkle  of  the  morn, 
1 1 


35802o 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Soon  away  to  regions  far 
We  must  follow  each  his  star. 
Yet,  the  day  of  tempest  done, 
Sailing  hack  at  set  of  sun, 
We  may  hope  once  more  to  he 
Happy,  trustful,  calm,  like  thee. 


My  father  died  before  I  recollect. 
The  thing  I  first  recall  was  how  at  dawn 
The  pigeons  would  be  cooing  in  the  eaves ; 
So  that,  when  Mother  told  me  solemnly 
Of  Father's  death  and  how  he  had  gone 

away 
Up  high,  I  thought  of  where  the  pigeons 

cooed 
And    fluttered — that    was    my    idea    of 

heaven. 
Our  family  name  was  Carr,  well  thought 

of  there; 
Our  house  was  in  a  pine  grove  near  the 

shore, 
Some  distance  up  the  bay  above  the  town. 
Plain  as  a  box,  but  cosy  and  neat  within, — 

12 


BAY 

All  but  the  parlor,  chill  with  musty  gloom, 
Where  gay  stuffed  birds  and  foreign  shells 

kept  state. 
Three  children  we  were  In  all;  my  sister 

Jane, 
Alden  (that's  my  name),  and  my  brother 

Phil, 
Born  after  Father's  death  as  I  know  now. 
Mother  did  well  by  us,  as  the  saying  Is, 
Though  more  by  stress  of  conscience  than 

of  love; 
Managed  the  old  farm,  never  let  us  want, 
And  taught  us  all  at  home  till  school-time 

came. 

How  clearly  the  scene  stands  out:  the 

whitewashed  walls 
With  map  and  blackboard,  cut  by  windows 

high 
And  staring;  In  the  midst  the  teacher's 

face. 
Kind  but  remote  because  of  spectacles. 
Little    she    was — though    very    large    to 

me — 

13 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Her  voice  high-pitched  and  chirping  Hke 

a  bird's; 
Her  small  bright  eyes  were  bird-like  too. 

She  spoke 
With  Mother  first,  then  turned  to  me  and 

said, 
**I  hope  you'll  like  it  here."     I  hoped  so 

too. 
Next  I  turned  round  to  look  at  all  the 

rest — 
Some  watching  me,   some  busy   at   their 

slates, 
Some  whispering.     Sister  Jane  was   one 

of  them, 
I  couldn't  tell  just  where  in  such  a  crowd. 
But  soon  the  teacher  led  me  to  my  seat 
And  gave  me  a  slate  with  easy  sums  to 

do.— 
Few  days  come  back  like  one's  first  day  at 

school ! 

Lessons  went  smoothly,  but  the  other 
boys 
Were  rough  and  teased  me;  if  Jane  took 
my  part 

14 


BAY 

It  only  made  things  worse,  until  I  learned 
That   boys — like   men — must   fight   their 

way  alone. 
I  made  no  friends ;  as  soon  as  school  was 

done 
I  used  to  trudge  off  gravely  by  myself 
To  lord  it  in  the  kingdom  of  my  choice; 
A  pebbly  beach,  walled  in  on  every  side 
By  scarred  gray  cliffs  that  shut  the  world 

of  school 
And  farm  completely  out,  yet  left  me  free 
To   share   the  gladness  of  the   romping 

waves, 
And  steep  my  being  in  the  soft  warm  air. 
Such  happiness  there  was  mine,   I  truly 

think. 
As  few  if  any  of  my  schoolmates  found 
In  livelier,  noisier  games.     When  I  be- 
gan 
To  read  I  somehow  took  to  naval  fights, 
Which  filled  my  mind  and  colored  all  my 

play 
With    patriotic    zeal.      From    that    time 

forth 

15 


SEA  AND  BAY 

I  dreamed  a  world  of  men  outside  my 

own. 
Instead  of  merely  throwing  stones  I  now 
Repelled  Invasions  of  the  British  fleet, 
Sinking     glass-bottle      frigates     by     the 

score, — 
The  bay  was  sea  for  me  in  miniature. 


You  may  imagine  that  the  cares  of  life 
Broke  in  upon  me  often:  chores  to  do, 
Letters  to  carry,  cows  and  pigs  to  feed. 
So  that  for  days  I  hardly  saw  my  beach. 
Yet  all  that  lives  in  me  of  those  early 

years 
Is  Mother's  face,  Jane's  calm  approving 

smile. 
And  the  remembrance  of  my  beach:  the 

cliffs. 
The  wild  sweet-peas,  the  round  wet  peb- 
bles even. 
Surely  my  life  between,  however  marred. 
Was  better  for   those  memories   of  the 

beach. 
The   bay,    so    silken    smooth,    so    mildly 
bright 

i6 


BAY 

It  seemed  the  very  mirror  of  repose, 
Lent  me  tranquillity,  the  pure  white  clouds 
Touched  the  divine  in  me  with  high  de- 
sire. 
The  flowers  and  pebbles  pleased  my  home- 
lier moods. 
And  taught  a  childlike  love  of  little  things. 
In  some  such  way  I  grew  till  I  was  twelve. 

On  my  next  birthday,  as  the  weather 
was  fair, 
The  month  July,  my  Uncle  Alden  came 
To  take  me  for  a  picnic  to  the  sea. 
I  was  his  favorite,  being  named  for  him, 
And    had    the    benefit    of    his    kindest 

thoughts 
And  longest  yarns ;  for  he  was  a  travelled 

man, 
A  merchant  captain  in  his  time,  and  now. 
Though  long  retired,  he  held  in  high  con- 
tempt 
The  manners  of  his  neighbors  by  the  bay. 
That  morning  he  wheeled  up  before  the 
door, 

17 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Cried  "All  aboard!"   gave  me  a  steady 

hand, 
And  helped  me  to  a  seat.     Who  then  so 

proud 
As    I    to    hold   the    reins    and    flick    the 

whip? 
While  we  were  spinning  down  the  sandy 

road, 
He  spoke  as  one  inspired:  "And  so,  young 

chap, 
YouVe  never  seen  the  ocean.    Well,  that 

beats 
The  very  blazes!     Lived  to  twelve  year 

old 
Within  five  miles.     Call  that  a  life,  do  ye 

then? 
Seen  it  between  the  capes,  ye  say?     No 

doubt, 
Looking   at   heaven   through   a   window- 
chink  ! 
I   wonder  what  ye'll  make   of  it  to-day 
With  the  warm  sunlight  striking  on  the 

rocks 
And  a  sou'wester  beating  up  the  surf." 
i8 


BAY 

We  climbed  a  burly  headland,  coming 

out 
By  a  lighthouse,  and  I  looked;  but  what 

I  saw 
I  had  no  words  to  tell,  nor  have  I  now. 
For  when  those  Atlas  arms  of  swimming 

blue 
Reached  out  as  if  to  bring  heaven  down 

to  me, 
I  knew  myself  akin  to  that  wide  scene 
By  the  great  throb  with  which  I  leaped  to 

it  there 
And  caught  it  to  my  spirit.  What  I  felt 
I  can  but  hint  by  some  vague  reference 
To  other  feelings  known  in  later  life. 
IVe  met  with  lovely  women,  two  or  three. 
Who  open  vistas  to  the  wondering  soul 
Of  spirit  realms  unguessed,  with  whom  it 

seems 
That  earth  and  heaven  have  no  fast-set 

bound, 
But  flow  together  as  imperceptibly 
As  blue  to  blue  on  the  horizon's  verge, 
Where  ships  float  up  to  meet  the  bending 

sky. 

19 


SEA  AND  BAY 

It  wasn't  long  before  I  had  earned  a 
boat 

By  extra  work  in  the  hayfields.     I  could 
now 

Fish  and  explore  the  bay  to  heart's  con- 
tent. 

I  might  have  taken  Phil  along,  but  he 

Would  rather  learn  to  do  things  on  the 
farm 

Than  wait  for  bites  or  play  at  make-be- 
lieve. 

For  me,  though,  fishing  was  romance,  a 
world 

Half  apprehended  in  those  magic  depths 

As  in  enchanted  woods.     No  water-sprite, 

Undine    or    Triton    could    have    seemed 
more  strange 

Than    those    wild    beings    that    bit    and 
tugged  and  splashed 

Until    they    were    safely    landed    in    the 
boat, — 

Only   the    frying-pan   could   prove    them 
fish. 

I  leaned  above  the  line,  intent  as  one 
20 


BAY 

Who  takes  a  message  from  another  world 
Sent  in  a  code  of  pulls.  I  could  but  guess 
Their  meaning:  one  said  "Wait!"  another 

''Jerk!" 
Some  of  the  fish  were  clever,  some  were 

dull, 
Each  had  his  character:  the  bluefish  fierce 
Pulling   from    side    to    side   with    frantic 

strength ; 
The  cunning  flounder  swimming  with  the 

line, 
Till  at  the  boat's  side  standing  on  his  tail 
He  threw  the  hook  and  vanished,  white 

side  up. 
Many   were   beautiful:    the    round   scup- 

paug, 
Their  sides  aglint  with  iridescent  hues, 
Which  shone  like  big  new  dollars  in  the 

rays 
Of  sunset,  when  they  always  bite  the  best; 
The  blackfish  stout,   of  blunt  aggressive 

build. 
Black,  grey  or  yellow  with  stripes. — You 

wonder  why 
So  many  artists  love  to  paint  dead  fish, 

21 


SEA  AND  BAY 

But  painted  fish  don't  smell,  and  kindly 

note 
The  firm  rich  color  and  the  subtle  sheen 
On  every  scale ! — Well,  well,  I've  skipped 

a  bit 
From  those  young  days  of  fishing  to  a 

time 
When  I  saw  famous  pictures,  but  you  see 
The  threads  of  life  get  tangled  now  and 

then. 

But  whether  I   fished  or  drifted  with 

the  tide 
I  was  at  one  with  Nature.  Oft  at  noon 
Of  some  bright,  listless  day  I  let  my  gaze 
Dream  down  into  the  depths  of  emerald 
Beneath,  or  with  a  slanting  look  beheld 
The  waveless  wide  expanse,  till  soul  and 

sense 
Would  blend  into  the  mid-day  light  which 

dwelt 
Caressingly  on   all.     Thus  not  so  much 
Did  Nature's  beauty  come  to  me,  as  I 
Went  out  to  Nature. 

22 


BAY 

I  was  taught  of  God 
In  a  cold,  gloomy  building,  but  His  love — 
What  I  could  learn  of  it — was  revealed 

to  me 
In  the  warm  air  beneath  the  tender  sky; 
Things  I  had  heard  in  church  would  then 

revive. 
As  Nature  gave  them  breath  and  life  and 

truth. 
I  liked  to  hear  that  Jesus  taught  men  so 
Beside  the  lake  or  on  the  mountain  side 
In  haunts  of  daily  life  where  flowers  and 

trees 
Offered  themselves  for  parables,  in  fields 
Or  by  the  village  well.     How  easily  then 
In   dull    folk's    hearts   might   spring   the 

seed  of  faith 
Or  flow  the  living  water ! 

Kindlier  thoughts 
Drew  me  at  length  to  leave  my  hermit 

ways 
And  mingle  with  my  fellows.    First  of  all 
A  girl  named  Hilda  won  my  bashful  trust 
By  a  bold  act  of  sympathy.     The  boys, 
23 


SEA  AND  BAY 

For  reasons  known  to  them,  had  picked 

me  out 
To  be  their  target  in  a  snowball  game. 
One  well-directed  volley  knocked  me  down 
With  bleeding  nose  and  lips.    The  marks- 
men brave, 
Scared  when  they  found  I  lay  there  partly 

stunned, 
Were    standing    sheepishly    aloof.      Just 

then 
Hilda  came  up  and  saw  us.     Like  a  flash 
She  ran  between,  and  turning  on  the  boys : 
"You  great  big  cowards,   all  of  you  on 

one!" 
Shamed  even  the  roughest.     Wiping  off 

the  blood 
With  that  incipient  mother-gentleness 
Which   girls    fall   heir  to   in   their   early 

teens. 
She  sent  the  leader  of  the  bullying  crew 
For  water, — this  I  heard  as  though  from 

far. 
A  moistened  handkerchief  on  brow  and 

cheek 
Revived  me,  Hilda  helped  me  to  sit  up, 
24 


BAY 

And  making  sure  no   serious  harm  was 

done, 
Soon  got  me  to  my  feet  and  so  to  school. 
Few  women  leave  a  generous  deed  half 

done, 
And  Hilda  was  a  woman  from  the  first. 
Finding  I  was  an  outlaw  from  the  rest, 
She  tried  to  learn  the  cause,  asked  of  my 

life 
And  told  me  of  her  own.     How  joyfully 
My  heart,  so  long  unsunned  by  fellow- 
ship. 
Melted,  to  tears  at  first,  and  then  to  speech 
Of  all  my  lonely  fancies,  lofty  hopes 
And  boy  ambitions ! 

From  that  winter  morn 
Hilda   and  I  were  friends.     I  took  her 

down 
To  see  my  beach  and  told  her  wondrous 

tales 
Of  wild  adventures ; — not  that  she  took  in 
Half  my  odd  notions,  but  she  looked  at 

me 
With  such  grave  interest  that  I  rambled 

on 

25 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Complacently  enough.  In  course  of  time 
Her  quiet  influence  wrought  upon  me  so 
That  I  no  longer  found  myself  shut  out 
From  common  schoolboy  games.     I  took 

my  place 
On    ball-team,    coasting    party,    husking 

bee, — 
Whatever  sport  the  season  might  suggest. 
I  still  was  laughed  at,  but  my  offish  ways 
Received   more    tolerance.      There   were 

rumors,  too. 
That   I    was    "something   extra"    at   my 

books. 
Mother  tried  hard  to  fix  me  to  the  farm, 
Showed  how  to   run   it,   scolded,  begged 

and  cried. 
Or  strove  to  rouse  a  rivalry  with  Phil, 
Already  my  superior;  nothing  worked. 
I  did  as  I  was  told,  went  blindly  on 
Till  I  could  hardly  stagger,  but  no  spark 
Of  love  for  what  I  did  inspired  my  toil. 
The  fields  were   clods,  the  cattle   stupid 

beasts; 
They  roused  my  imagination  to  no  life 
26 


BAY 

As  they  did  PhlFs.     But  set  me  at  my 

books, — 
My  history,  Latin,  mathematics  even — 
And  straight  my  mind  awoke.     The  very 

figures 
Were  things  I  loved  to  wrestle  with;  they 

seemed 
Somehow  more  real  than  pigs  or  ricks  of 

hay. 
If  Mother  argued,  I  could  never  explain 
Why    I    should    feel    so.      Uncle    Alden 

laughed 
When  Mother  told  him.     "I  was  right, 

you'll  see,'' 
He  used  to  say.     Once  the  head  master 

called. 
To  talk  of  me,  I  knew.    The  upshot  was 
That   I   was   given   two   more   years   of 

school 
Beyond  what  most  had;  Uncle  paid  for  it. 
Then  I  was  happy,  did  my  farming  chores 
With  zeal  to  earn  my  schooling  honestly, 
And    showed    a    cheerful    visage    to    the 

world. 

27 


SEA  AND  BAY 

The  world  accordingly  smiled  back  at  me 

And  life  went  smoothly. 

Somewhere  near  fifteen 

The    romance    of    my    beach    began    to 
fade, 

My  reading  changed  from  fights  to  poetry 

And  sentimental  tales,  my  peace  of  mind 

Gave   way  to   restless  languor.      It  was 
long 

Before  I  learned  the  cause,  though  in  the 
end 

It  struck  me  like  a  blow.     One  night  that 
year 

I  went  with  Hilda,  as  the  custom  was. 

To  a  birthday  party  at  a  village  house. 

There,    after    hide-and-seek    and    blind- 
man's-buff, 

They  called  for  Copenhagen  (kiss-in-the- 
ring)  . 

The  game  being  new  to  me,  I  joined  the 
rest 

And  watched,  but  when  one  struggling  girl 
was  kissed. 

Then  others,  many  of  them  nothing  loath, 

A  cruel  wormwood  feeling  of  disgust 
28 


BAY 

Rose  in  my  throat,  a  disillusionment 
That  now  may  well  seem  comic:     This 

was  love, 
The  knightly  passion  for  a  peerless  maid 
Of  which  the  novels  told!     I  thanked  my 

stars 
That    Hilda    had    escaped    the    general 

fate. 
One  bold-cheeked  hoyden  caught  me  with 

the  ring 
And  stood  an  instant,  but  I  stared  and 

blushed 
Till   with    a   mocking   laugh   she    slipped 

away. 
And  yet  while  walking  home  I  felt  again 
That  I  had  played  the  fool  and  missed  my 

chance. 
Later,  on  moonlight  picnics  when  I  found 
A  couple  kissing,  I  would  steal  away 
With  lonely  hard  sensations  in  my  heart, 
Because  their  happiness  was  not  for  me. 
There  was  a  song  we  often  used  to  sing 
On    straw-rides    or   around    a    driftwood 

fire 
That  used  to  vex  me.  This  is  how  it  went : 
29 


SEA  AND  BAY 

The  Husking  Bee 

Ridin'  home  from  the  huskin'  bee 

^ Neath  the  full  moon^s  tender  light, 
My  sweetheart  Sally  was  a-settin'  by  me 

An*  her  eyes  they  was  big  and  bright. 
Then  I  thought  to  myself:  I'd  like  to  know 

If  my  arm  stole  around  her  waist, 
Whether  she'd  cuddle  close  an'  look  up  so, 

An'  her  lips  I  then  would  taste. 

Chorus 
We  was  jog  gin'  along,  jog  gin'  along, 

Joggin'  along  by  the  moon's  pale  light; 
Jog  gin'  along,  sin  gin'  a  song, 

Comin'  home  from  the  huskin'  bee. 

Pretty  soon  my  hand  it  crept  around, 

An'  Sally  looked  up  so  shy. 
An'  two  pair  o'  lips  each  other  found, — 

Oh,  what  a  happy  man  was  I! 
Then  I  says  to  her,  ''Sal,  I  felt  so  scared 

That  you'd  scream  or  say  me  nay." 
But  she  answered,  ''I  was  waitin'  to  see  if 
you  dared. 

For  a  girl  must  be  won  that  way." 
30 


BAY 

Chorus 

We  was  jog  gin'  along,  jog  gin'   along, 
Joggin'  along  by  the  moon's  soft  light; 

While   our   two    hearts  sang   love's   own 
song, 
Comin'  home  from  the  huskin'  bee. 

Now  if  you  should  be  placed  as  I  was  then. 

Just  listen  to  my  advice. 
The  girls  they  take  to  the  forward  men 

If  they  only  act  polite  an'   nice. 
Perhaps  you  will  think  that  the  maid  is 
coy 

An'  be  afraid  to  begin, 
While  she's  just  a-thinkin  :    This  noodle- 
head  boy 

Hain't  got  enough  spunk  to  win. 

Chorus 
So  when  you're — 

Jog  gin'  along,  jog  gin'  along. 

Jog  gin'  along  by  the  moon's  soft  light, 
Joggin'  along,  remember  my  song 

As  you  come  from  the  huskin'  bee. 
31 


SEA  AND  BAY 

I  couldn't  ever  be  a  "forward  man" 
Or  boy,  despite  the  moral  of  the  piece. 
I  followed  Hilda  with  a  spaniel  love 
Month  after  month,  but  when  at  last  I 

tried 
One  mild  May  night  to  do  as  in  the  song. 
She  just  said,  "Alden  Carr,  behave  your- 
self!" 
And  Alden  Carr  behaved. 

Thus  far  in  life 
rd  met  with   no   one   from   the   outside 

world. 
But  this  year  in  the  summer  holidays 
A  painter  came  to  board  with  us.     Just 

how 
He  knew  the  bay,  and  why  he  chose  our 

house 
I  don't  remember,  but  he  picked  me  out 
To    carry    his    things    for    him.      When 

Mother  fumed 
Because  I  left  my  farming,  my  new  friend 
Insisted,  giving  reason  for  his  whim 
And  paying  me  a  grown  man's  wage  be- 
sides. 
"I  can't  paint  pictures  when  a  stupid  boor 
32 


BAY 

Is  glowering  at  me,"  he  would  often  say. 
"I  must  have  some  one  there  with  eyes 

In  his  head 
To  tell  me  If  my  work  looks  right.    A  boy 
Who  has  lived  outdoors  in  such  a  place  as 

this 
Should   beat   the    soundest   critic   in   the 

world, 
If  only  he  can  get  my  point  of  view." 
This  was  the  way  he  used  to  start  with 

me: 
HeM  fill  his  canvas  in  with  general  tones 
In  large  bold  masses,  make  me  turn  my 

head 
Sideways,  and  ask  me  if  they  matched  the 

real. 
It  took  some  time  before  I  came  to  see 
Just   what   he   wanted.      "So   you   didn't 

know 
That  hill  was  blue,"  he  said  the  first  day 

out; 
"Thought  it  was  green  because  the  grass 

was  green. 
But  look  now,  only  lean  your  head  and 

look — 

33 


SEA  AND  BAY 

It's  blue,  you  see.     We  let  our  foolish 

minds 
Obscure  our  eyes.     No  matter  what  you 

think, 
If  you  think  wrong.     Start  fresh  and  get 

the  facts — 
That  puts  men  right  in  life  as  well  as  art." 
So  after  a  while  I  got  to  know  his  ways 
And  fit  myself  to   suit  them. — Short  he 

was. 
Dapper    and    stoutish,    rather    old    than 

young, 
And  therefore  set  in  his  manner.    At  the 

core 
Dead  earnest,  but  as  playful  on  the  top 
As  any  truant  schoolboy.     None  the  less 
He  kept  you  where  he  wanted  you.     His 

name 
Was  Atwood  Brinton. 

By  the  second  week 
We  two  were  like  old  comrades,  for  he 

talked 
Between  the  bursts  of  painting,  and  his 

speech 
Had  all  the  life  and  color  of  his  brush. 
34 


BAY 

Longing  to  question  him,  I  quickly  found 
That  If  I  chose  my  time  It  rather  pleased 
Than  Irked  him.     When  he  measuredly 

pronounced 
His  first  large  picture  finished,  I  Inquired 
If    those    grey    blurs    were    trees,    those 

brown  ones  cows, 
And  why  he  didn't  make  them  look  more 

real. 
"Look,  youngster,  look!     You  think  you 

see  a  cow 
Because  your  mind  tells  you  It  is  a  cow. 
And,  knowing  what  cows  look  like  from 

near  by, 
You  force  the  details  Into  what  you  see 
From  far.     But  shut  your  meddling  mind 

and  look. 
You  don't  see  horns  and  shoulder,   ribs 

and  tail; 
You  see  a  brown  spot.     Well,  and  there 

you  are!" 
Then  his  enthusiasm  for  art  and  life 
Were  still  so  fresh.  I  thought  I  had  posed 

him  once, 

35 


SEA  AND  BAY 

When  he'd  been   saying  Nature  was  so 

grand 
That  even  the  greatest  painter  couldn't 

hope 
To  put  the  whole  on  canvas,  I  inquired 
If   photographs   weren't  better   than   his 

art, 
Since  they  put  all  in.     "Put  in  all  of  what? 
Why,  all  the  trees  and  clouds  and  waves, 

you  say. 
But  does  that  give  you  Nature?    No,  no 

more 
Than  the  town  census  gives  you  breathing 

men. 
Dry   facts    aren't   Nature;   Nature    is    a 

thrill, 
A   bounding   in    the   blood.      Leave   out 

man's  heart 
And  there  is  no  Nature,  only  stocks  and 

stones. 
Nature  is  just  the  wide  deep  soul  of  things 
That  speaks  to  all  of  us,  giving  each  no 

more 
I'han   he  can  comprehend.     Those  men 

who  paint 

36 


BAY 

Just  rocks  and  trees  do  worse  than  pho- 
tographs, 
But  he  who  paints  the  harmony  and  joy 
Which  Nature's  voice  awakens  in  his  soul 
Brings,    poet-like,    new    beauty    down    to 

earth. 
As  no  man's  soul  is  big  enough  to  grasp 
The  whole  of  Nature,  so  in  some  degree 
The  greatest  painters   fail. — Why,  bless 

the  boy! 
His  brow's  as  wrinkled  as  a  millionaire's, 
His  eyes  are  bulging  and  his  mouth  agape. 
Don't  try  to  gulp  all  Emerson  at  once, 
Sonny,  but  give  me  a  hand  here  with  my 

traps 
Or   else   we   shan't   be   home   by   supper 
time." 

He  made  the  commonest  things  seem 
wonderful. 
And  let  a  flood  of  feeling  and  ideas 
Pour  in  upon  my  mind.     When  he  found 

out 
That  I  was  quick  at  books,  he  lent  me  his, 
37 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Especially  poetry,  and  best  of  all 
His  voice  evoked  the  living  music  hid 
In  each  harmonious  cadence.     By  his  aid 
I  saw  the  host  of  rebel  angels  whelmed 
In  gulfs  of  quenchless  fire.    His  sympathy 
Revealed    the    limpid    depth    of    Words- 
worth's mind. 
I  saw  prismatic  hues  of  Shellelan  joy, 
And  drank  delicious  nectar  draughts  of 

Keats. 
"Poems    and    music    teach    men    hoW    to 

paint. 
And   pictures    how    to    write,"    he    often 

said. 
Two    things    perplexed    me    in    my    new- 
found friend: 
First,  why  with  all  the  world  from  which 

to  choose 
He  came  to  summer  by  our  barren  shore; 
And  why  with  all  his  passionate  delight 
In  poetry  he  wrote  none  for  himself. 
One  rainy  day,  though,  he  replied  to  both 
These  points  by  handing  me  a  scribbled 
sheet: 

38 


BAY 

A  Painter  in  New  England 

Did  you  ever  note  the  beauty  of  the  soft 
New  England  grasses, 
All  the  ochres,  reds  and  browns? 
And  the  flowers:  the  purple  asters  and  the 
goldenrod's  rich  masses, 
With  the  cardinals'  flaming  gowns, 
Dots  of  blood  against  the  tangle  of  the 

reedy,  lone  morasses, 
Where  the  nodding  cat-tails  rustle  under 
every  wind  that  passes. 
Ah!  what  reticent  depth  of  color. 
Growing  brighter,  growing  duller, 
As  a  smile  of  sunlight  broadens  or  a  brow 
of  storm-cloud  frowns! 

Have  you  read  the  blazoned  glory  of  the 
sunset's  revelations. 
Glowing  scarlet  streaked  with  gold; 
Have  you  seen  the  sky-towers  crumbling 
in  stupendous  conflagrations. 
Passing  gorgeous  to  behold? 
While  the  east  is  hung  with  tapestries  in 
dove-serene  gradations, 

39 


SEA  AND  BAY 

And  the  naked  vault  of  heaven  is  filled 
with  rosy  undulations? 
Where  in  all  the  world  resplendent 
Or  the  poet's  mind  transcendent 
Can   such   miracles   he   rivaled,   form   so 
grand  or  hue  so  hold? 

Have  you  watched  the  dreamy  progress 
of  a  gray  New  England  schooner 
Drifting  seaward  with  the  tide 
Darkly  down  a  lane  of  radiance,  dawn-lit 
gold  or  silvery  lunar. 
Ribbon  narrow  or  ocean  wide? 
Such  a  boat  in  such  a  background  I  will 

paint  you  ten  times  sooner 
Than  a  lily-perfect  yacht  with  drooping 
topsail  and  b alio  oner. 
No,  for  me  the  old-time  vessel 
In  a  land-locked  bay  to  nestle 
Till  the  light  wind  flaps  her  staysail  and 
the  light  wave  laps  her  side. 

Have  you  shrunk  before  the  grimness  of 
the  rugged  longshore  ledges 
Where  the  groundswell  surf  rolls  in 
40 


BAY 

Round  the  hattlemented  coastline  with  its 
walls  and  bastion  wedges? 
Hark!  the  cave-resounded  din, 
As  a  breaker  smites  the  granite  with  the 

strength  of  giant  sledges. 
And  a  swaying  fringe  of  foam  enfolds  the 
ramparfs  dripping  edges. 
Lovely  lands  across  the  ocean 
Thrill  the  heart  with  quick  emotion, 
But  the  shore  of  staid  New  England  holds 
a  rapture  hard  to  win. 

These  lines  of  Brinton's  gave  the  common 

sights 
Of  every  day  an  unfamiliar  tone. 
It  filled  me  with  delight,  almost  with  awe 
To  find  the  quiet  district  where  I  lived 
So  full  of  Inspiration.     When  I  tried 
To  master  this,  the  painter  mused  a  while 
Before  he  spoke.    "Yes,  boy,  no  land  I've 

seen 
Can  speak  to  me  as  this  does.     Just  the 

same 
Tm  not  surprised  that  you're  surprised  at 

me. 

41 


SEA  AND  BAY 

It's  only  after  youVe  enriched  your  eyes 

With  years  of  travel  that  you  get  to  know 

The  things  you  used  to  look  at  as  a  boy. 

YouVe  got  to  live  and  spread.  It's  not 
the  eyes 

At  all  I  really  mean,  it  takes  the  soul 

To  see  the  only  things  worth  looking  at. 

Go  out  and  live  first,  then  come  back  and 
see." 

I  told  him  I  was  poor.  *'Don't  stop  for 
that," 

He  urged  me;  "seize  your  chance  and  get 
away, — 

It  don't  much  matter  where,  but  get  be- 
yond 

Your  bay  and  see  yourself  with  other 
eyes." 

Our  conversations  used  to  make  me  feel 
Half  proud  and  half  abashed  that  such  a 

man 
Should  waste  his  genius  on  a  country  boy. 
At  last  the  day  before  he  was  to  leave 
I  hinted  this.     He  laid  a  kindly  hand 
42 


BAY 

Across  my   shoulder,   looked  me   In   the 

eyes, 
And  with   a   gentler  and  more  personal 

tone 
Than  he  had  ever  used,  he  said,  "Young 

chap, 
I'm  fond  of  you.     There's  something  in 

your  look 
That  tells  me  youVe  worth  while.     I  like 

to  talk, 
That's  true  enough — it  lets  my  pressure 

down 
And  clears  me  of  cobwebs — but  Fm  not 

the  man 
To  speak  about  the  things  I  care  for  most 
With  every  one.     I  noticed  from  the  start 
How  quickly  you  caught  on,  how  keen  you 

were 
To  wrestle  with  new  problems;  and  I've 

watched 
Your  face  light  up  with  glowing  earnest- 
ness 
When  finer  thoughts   evoked  your   finer 

self. 

43 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Then  I   found  out  the  pace  you  set  at 

school, 
And  let  you  have  your  head.     The  way 

you  ran 
To  what  was  best  in  Nature  and  In  books 
Made  me  feel  doubly  certain  I  was  right 
In  what  I  thought  before.  Lad,  don't  for- 
get 
YouVe  got  the  aptitude  for  better  things 
Than  farming.     See  you  get  away  from 

here. 
If  lack  of  money  keeps  you,  write  to  me. 
Another  thing.    Last  Sunday  afternoon 
I  saw  you  with  a  girl."     (Hilda  it  was, 
With  whom  I  went  much  less  when  Brin- 

ton  came.) 
"Don't  blush,  I  compliment  you  on  your 

taste; 
She  seemed  a   very  queen  of  curds  and 

cream, 
As  Shakespeare  says.     Now  lots  of  silly 

chaps 
Find  sweethearts  long  before  they  find  a 

trade. 

44 


BAY 

Don't  you  do  that.  Go  out  and  make  your 

way 
Before  you  ask  her.     Maybe  she's  the  girl 
Of  girls  for  you,  but  look  around  a  bit 
And  you'll  not  choose  the  worse." 

The  following  day 
I  drove  my  patron  to  the  train;  we  said 
Good-bye,  and  he  was  hurried  from  my 

sight. 
But  even  had  we  never  met  again, 
I    could    not    show    with    any   words    of 

mine 
The  influence  which  his  summer  visit  had 
On  all  my  later  life. 

The  next  year  passed 
In  life  monotonous  as  the  quiet  bay, 
Rippled  by  crispy  wavelets  of  events, 
Till  like  a  swift,  appalling  tidal-wave 
Came  tragedy.     One  Sunday  late  in  June 
A  friend  of  mine  had  taken   his  sweet- 
heart out 
To  sail,   and   I  was  watching  from  the 

shore. 
The  breeze  died  down,  the  lifeless  atmos- 
phere 

45 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Was  sultry  and  oppressive.     Soon  I  saw 
That  in  the  north  dark  clouds  were  piling 

up, — 
A   squall   for  sure.      The  boat  was   two 

miles  out 
But    near    an    island;    safe    enough,     I 

thought. 
The  clouds  flew  quickly  like  a  thronging 

troop 
Of  genii  that  one  reads  of  in  the  tales. 
Black    and    malignant,    while    a    coppery 

light 
Glowed   underneath.      Across   the   water 

spread 
A  shadow  like  an  inkstain,   flecked  with 

white. 
It  neared  the  boat.    'Twas  time  my  friend 

dropped  sail 
And  pulled  to  the  island.     Then — what 

can  he  mean? 
Surely  he  won't — ^but  yes,  he  comes  about, 
Misjudging  or  in  pure  foolhardiness. 
To  run  full  sail  before  the  driving  gust. 
Ah,  well,  perhaps  he'll  make  it.    The  first 

puff 

46 


BAY 

He  weathers,  edging  carefully  across 
Till    opposite    the    beach    where,    terror- 
fixed, 
I    follow    every   plunge.      He    nears    the 

shore. 
Already  I  can  see  the  girl's  white  face 
And  his  neck-muscles,  tense  and  resolute, 
When  with   a   merciless  push  the  brutal 

storm 
Crushes   the    struggling   sail    against   the 

waves. 
My  win  flames  up.     I  launch  my  heavy 

skiff 
With  desperate  strength  to  meet  the  sud- 
den need, 
Shoving  her  through  the  breakers,  jump- 
ing in, 
And  tugging  at  the  oars.     Not  fifty  yards 
Away    they're    clinging    to    the    upturned 

keel 
That  wallows  deep,  death-cradled  in  the 

trough 
Between  the  foaming  crests.     I  battle  on 
And  try  to  think. — I've  got  to  get  them  in 

47 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Before  they  pass  the  point.     No  easy  job 
To   keep   from   swamping  in   a   sea   like 

this. — 
There!   Dead  ahead!    I  mustn't  run  them 

down. 
Good  boy!     He's  got  her  fast.     No  time 

to  lose. 
Now  up  alongside,  ship  oars  and  drag  her 

in! 
I  have  her  shoulders.    Quick!  before  this 

wave — 
Thank  God!   she  tumbles  somehow  into 

the  boat. 
Now  him. — That  breaker  threw  us  far 

apart. — 
Where  is  he?    There's  the  slippery  keel, 

but  where 
Is    he? — I    stand    and    stare    across    the 

gulfs. — 
No  form,   no  cry  to  show  me  where  to 

turn. 
No  time  to  weigh  the  horror.     Back  to 

shore ! 
Or  lose  her  too. 

48 


BAY 

Well,  that  was  all.     IVe  heard 
That  drowning  men  come  up  before  they 

sink; 
It  was  not  so  with  him,  I  never  saw 
His  living  face  again. — It  all  came  back 
Just  now  as  if  I  lived  it  while  I  spoke, 
And  yet  'twas  forty  years  since. — Oh,  the 

girl! 
She's  now  a  grandmother,  very  handsome 

still 
They  say. — But  to  come  back  to  where  I 

was. 
Mother,  when   they  had  got  me  to   the 

house. 
Began  to  scold  as  if  I'd  just  been  caught 
In  mischief:    "Mercy  me!     He'll  get  his 

death 
Of  cold.    Soaked  through,  and  in  his  Sun- 
day clothes!" 
Her  care   soon  brought  me   round,   and 

people  said 
That  she  was  proud  of  me;  but  she  never 

let 
Me  see  it.    All  she  said  was,  "Let  this  be 
A  warning  to  you."  How  I  couldn't  guess, 

49 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Tin  when  I  was  well  at  last  she  spoke  It 

out. 
"Promise  me,  Alden,  that  you'll  never  go 
To  sea.     No  good  will  ever  come  of  it, 
And  I  should  never  spend  a  quiet  night 
Thinking  you  might  be  took  like  Edward 

Coles/' 
"But,  Mother,  that  was  on  the  hay,'* 

"What  then? 
Wouldn't  the  sea  be  twenty  times  as  bad?" 
Perhaps  she  was  right;  to  me  she  only 

proved 
The  very  opposite  of  what  she  wished. 
Poor  Edward's  fate  was  terrible,  but  then 
I  thought  that,  if  a  man  might  drown  at 

home. 
He  had  better  far  strike  out  Into  the  world 
And  so  get  something  for  his  risk.     The 

farm 
Grew   daily   more   distasteful.      I   would 

roam 
More  often  on  the  cliffs  to  watch  the  surf. 
The  dithyrambic  rapture  of  the  sea. 
My  wanderlust  was  fed  by  all  I  saw 
50 


BAY 

And  all  I  read.    A  book  of  Shakespeare's 

plays 
Which  Mr.  Brinton  sent  me  stirred  my 

soul 
With  passion  for  adventure :  noble  deeds, 
Chlvalric  love,  the  conduct  of  affairs, 
The  bold  plots  of  ambitious  villainy 
So  humanly  portrayed,  all  nursed  in  me 
The  spirit  of  unrest,   of  discontent 
With  mean  surroundings. — Often  at  the 

quay 
I'd  wait  to  watch  the  dingy  mackerel  boats 
Ball   out  their   slippery  load   of   shining 

fish, 
And  hear  the  old  salts  tell  of  deep-sea 

work. 
Of  halibut  that  weighed  three   hundred 

pounds 
And  fabulous  hauls  of  cod.    While  I  was 

there 
One  evening.   Uncle   slapped  me  on   the 

back. 
"How'd  you  enjoy  to  try  the  Banks?"  he 

asked. 

51 


SEA  AND  BAY 

I  must  have  looked  my  answer,   for  he 

said, 
"We'll  think  it  over,  boy,"  and  strolled 

away. 
I  worked  my  best  at  school  with  vague 

ideas 
That  this  would  somehow  help,  and  when 

I  had  time, 
I  sought  the  cliffs  and  shared  the  ocean's 

mood : 
Its  huge  reproach  of  craven  languidness, 
Its  sting  to  manly  enterprise,  its  voice 
Of  elemental  strength;  and  many  a  night 
My  heart  would  throb  as  if  the  keen  salt 

tide 
Was  poured  into  my  veins.     No  more  for 

me 
The  torpid  reaches  of  the  mawkish  bay! 

One  thing  alone  restrained  me.     It  was 
not 
Mother    (nor  yet  the   farm,   which   Phil 

could  take) 
Nor    Jane,    whose    counsel    I    no    longer 
sought, 

52 


BAY 

Though  least  of  all  would  she  have  held 

me  back. 
No,  it  was  Hilda;  for  a  time  eclipsed 
By  last  year's  visitor,  but  shining  now 
With    the    more    radiance. — I    was    just 

eighteen. 
Finished    with    school,    and    galled    past 

words  to  tell 
By  toil  that  bent  and  dulled  and  brutalized 
All  that  was  best  of  me.     In  one  more 

year 
The  blisters  would  be  callous  to  the  yoke 
And   I    a   broken   drudge;   the   time   had 

come 
When  I  should  make  my  choice  of  sea  and 

bay. 
Hilda  was  of  the  bay,  no  longer  now 
A    sturdy    school-girl,    but    a    maid    full- 
grown. 
Slender  and  tall  and  shy,  yet  kind  to  me; 
Face    almost    classic,    hair    a    thrush-like 

brown. 
Blue  eyes  that  shone  with  calm  nobility. 
And  voice   clear  treble    (though   'twould 
break  sometimes 
53 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Beneath    the    stress    of    Hilda's    earnest 

thought) . 
A  native  grace  she  had  in  homeliest  things, 
And  people  loved  her.    No  one  else  could 

charm 
The     gloomy     bitterness     of     Mother's 

moods, 
Or  rouse  in  Phil  the  shame  of  awkward- 
ness; 
And  she  was  Jane's  best  friend. 

One  Sunday  morn 
Uncle  came  round  to  tell  me  of  a  berth 
On  a  Newfoundland  fishing-boat  to  sail 
Next  Wednesday  for  the  Banks.     That 

afternoon — 
No  storm  had  dared  to  frown  on  such  a 

day — 
Hilda  and  I  went  rowing.     Just  before 
I  had  felt  myself  above  the  rural  swarm. 
With  my  great  prospects  come  to  me  so 

soon. 
But  there  alone  with  Hilda  all  my  pride 
Grew   meek,    my    self-conceit    was    over- 
awed; 
She  was  so  simple  yet  so  wonderful. 
54 


BAY 

The  charm  of  all  my  boyhood  memories 
Was  clustered  round  her:  that  serene  ex- 
panse 
Of  shining  beauty  blest  with  azure  light, 
The    nestling    islands,    and    the    curving 

shore 
(Delicious  as  the  Hne  of  Hilda's  throat) 
Were  consecrated  visibly;  and  she. 
This  maiden  seated  in  my  clumsy  skiff. 
Was   grown    the    living  presence    of    the 

whole. 
As  I  have  seen  the  sunset-glow  pour  down 
A  dim  cathedral  nave,  and  dreamed  the 

saint 
Was  floating  in  the  radiance,  so  her  form 
(Though  plainly  clad  as  suited  with  the 

scene) 
Was  shrined  ethereal  in  the  misty  beams 
That  flooded  through  a  rift  of  western 

cloud. 
Nor  did  her  aureole  vanish  when  the  skiff 
Crunched  on  the  pebbles  of  the  lonely  isle 
Which  we  had  planned  to  visit.     Out  she 

stepped; 

5S 


SEA  AND  BAY 

We  climbed  the  bank  and  strolled  until 

we  found 
A  plot  of  greensward  where  the  fading 

lights 
Play  trixy  through  the  trees.     There  we 

sat  down 
And  talked  of  my  career.     She  asked  to 

know 
If  it  were  true  I  thought  to  go  to  sea. 
I  told  her  yes,  I  had  no  calling  here, 
That  life  was  cramped  within  the  narrow 

bay 
And  that  the  ocean  was  the  sole  escape. 
*'Your  mother,   Alden,   will  she  let  you 

gor 
"It's  not  a  case  of  letting.     I  can't  stay 
And  stifle  here." 

"How  can  you  speak  like  that? 
Your  folks  have  always  lived  here  hap- 

piiy> 

Your  friends  are  here.    Why  should  you 

go  away 
From  every  one  that  cares  for  you.    The 

sea's 

56 


BAY 

So  wild  and  fierce.    Father  don't  set  much 

store 
By  sailors,  calls  them  all  a  shiftless  set 
That  lead  an  ugly  life.    I  know  you're  not 
A  rough  boy,  Alden.     Is  there  nothing 

here 
To  keep  you?" 

Then  the  crucial  conflict  came. 
The  bay  shone   forth  so  fair  in  Hilda's 

eyes 
That  the  rude  sea  shrank  backward  for 

a  time. 
And  I  could  have  promised  never  to  de- 
part 
Had  I  but  dared  to  take  her  slim  brown 

hand. 
But  no.     The  tumult  of  the  restless  deep 
Swelled   up    and   burst    in    bitter,    angry 

words : 
"To  keep  me  here?  No,  what  should  keep 

me  here? 
Poor  Mother  frets,  most  people  think  me 

proud. 
And  Jane,  the  one  of  all  who  understands. 
Says  go. — Hilda,  I  want  to  be  a  man 
57 


SEA  AND  BAY 

And  not  a  fence-pole  rotting  in  the  earth. 

No  one  gets  on  here,  it's  a  stagnant  pool; 

As  if  there  were  no  larger  way  of  life, 

No  sea  where  tradewinds  drive  to  for- 
eign ports. 

Where  navies  clash  and  danger  leads  to 
fame. 

I'd  rather  sail  and  drown  on  my  first 
cruise 

Than  mildew  for  a  lifetime  by  the  bay." 

Her  eyes  grew  wide  with  terror  and 
surprise, 

For  never  had  she  heard  my  thoughts 
rush  out 

So  vehemently.     But  Hilda  had  no  fear 

In  her  own  faith.  "You're  talking  wick- 
edly. 

Aren't  we  all  given  the  places  where  we 
are 

To  stay  just  there?  Whoever  does  what's 
right 

Should  always  feel  contented  with  his  lot 

And  not  dispute  with  Providence.  Only 
think. 

58 


BAY 

You  know  your  mother  loves  you,  and  we 

all 
Admire  you  and  expect  great  things  of 

you. 
But  why  not  do  them  here?" 

''Mend  chicken  coops 
And  dig  potatoes?  Hilda,  take  my  word, 
I  wasn't  meant  to  stay  here.  In  my  heart 
The  call  to  launch  out  In  the  bigger  world 
Is  like  the  voice  of  God;  it  murmurs  low 
And  urgent  as  the  steady  southwest  wind, 
Summoning  me  to  find  the  bigger  place 
That  Fm  to  fill.     Don't  hinder  me, — and 

yet 
Please  don't  forget  me.     I'll  come  back 

sometime, 
I  hope,  and  find  you  as  you  have  always 

been." 
She  could  not  comprehend  it,  but  she 

felt 
That  I  spoke  truth. — In  silence  we  rowed 

back; 
She  musing  with  a  puzzled,  anxious  look, 
I  dreaming  of  my  future  on  the  sea. 


59 


PART    II 
SEA 


Sea  Song 

/  have  lent  myself  to  thy  will,  O  Sea! 

To  the  urge  of  thy  tidal  sway; 
My  soul  to  thy  lure  of  mystery, 
My  cheek  to  thy  lashing  spray. 

For  there's  never  a  man  whose  blood 

runs  warm^ 
But  would  quaff  the  wine  of  the  brim- 
ming storm. 
As  the  prodigal  lends  have  I  lent  to  thee, 
For  a  day  or  a  year  and  a  day. 

And  what  if  the  tale  be  quickly  told 

And  the  voyage  be  wild  and  brief? 
I  can  face  thy  fury  with  courage  bold 
And  never  a  whine  of  grief, 

Though    peril-fanged    is    thy    grisly 

track, 
The  ship  goes  out  that  never  comes 
back, 

63 


SEA  AND  BAY 

And  the  sailor^ s  whitened  hone's  are  rolled 
In  the  surge  of  the  whitening  reef. 

The  shores  recede^  the  great  sails  filly 

The  lee  rail  hisses  under, 
As  we  double  the  cape  of  Lighthouse  Hill 
Where  sea  and  harbor  sunder. 

Then  here's  to  a  season  of  glad  un- 
rest! 
With  an  anchor  of  hope  on  the  sea- 
man's breast, 
Till  I  claim  once  more  from  thy  savage 
will 
A  soul  that  is  fraught  with  wonder. 


Forth  from  the  harbor,  forth  into  the 

world, 

Forth  on  the  heaving  billowy  ocean  flood  1 

No  matter  how  or  where,  the  crucial  point 

Of  each  man's  life  is  when  he  leaves  the 

bay. 
Spreads   his  white   sails  before   the   ruf- 
fling breeze. 
And  takes  the  first  plunge  of  the  hollow 
surge. 

64 


SEA 

Oh,  thrill  of  first  adventure!     Overhead 

Flew  pearly  cloudlets ;  on  our  lee  the  cliffs, 

So  formidable  once,  were  fading  low; 

Beneath,    the    cloven    wave's    translucent 
green 

Sprang  into  spray  along  the  dipping  stem; 

And  somewhere  out  beyond  those  curling 
crests 

Lay,    golden    as    with    promise,    the    un- 
known. 
I  skip  the  dull  routine.     A  sailor's  life 

On  board  a  fishing  boat  is  not  much  worse 

Than  most  apprenticeships.     It  seems  to 
me 

That  when  a  man  signs  on  he  takes  his  job 

For  good  or  bad.    Best  like  it  if  he  can; 

If  not,  still  pride  and  shame  will  see  him 
through. 

The  work  was  heavy,  deep-sea  lines  and 
trawls, 

With  all  the  seaman's  regular  round  be- 
sides: 

Fog,    storm,    long   hours   of   strain,   bad 
food,  hard  words 

And  little  rest;  yet  somehow,  all  in  all, 
65 


SEA  AND  BAY 

The  time  was  good.     It's  good  for  any 

man 
To  know  he  fills  a  place,  to  find  himself 
Coming  to  blows  with  rough  reality 
And  learning  the  great  game.     But  more 

than  this, 
I  liked  the  open,  felt  a  dignity 
In  playing  my  small  part  on  such  a  stage. 
The  clouds  for  background  and  the  un- 
tiring sea 
For  my  antagonist.     My  companions,  too, 
Though  harsh  of  voice  and  feature,  had  a 

look 
Of  strength,  I  almost  think  of  majesty, 
Like  Roman  legionaries,  battle-scarred 
By  spears  of  wild  barbarians  in  the  north. 
We  had  great  moments.    Not  a  day  went 

by        _     _ 

But  brought  its  tithe  of  wonder:  changing 

lights 
And  aspects  of  the  sea,  a  mighty  fish. 
An  ocean-liner  cleaving  through  the  fog. 
Old  tales  of  daring  told  beneath  the  stars. 
The   acrid  taste   has   mellowed  with  the 

years, 

66 


SEA 

And  when  I  choose  a  vintage  of  the  past 
And  set  it  to  my  lips,  a  youthful  glow 
Steals  from  the  well-stored  wine  of  mem- 
ory 
Into  my  blood. 

I  sit  here  by  the  lamp, 
Letting  my  thoughts  drift  back  indefinitely 
Till  some  one  scene  grows  clearer  than 

the   rest. 
Just  now  it  seems  to  be  a  lonely  night 
Of  moonlight,    mid   the   fog. — We   slid, 

close-hauled, 
Across  an  easy  swell.    The  fog  all  day 
Had  baffled  us;  towards  midnight  now  it 

thinned. 
Showing  a  dim  wraith  of  the  rising  moon. 
Lustreless  and  forlorn.     An  eerie  shock 
I  felt  to  see  beneath  no  waves  at  all, 
To  float  as  it  were  in  chaos — for  the  mist 
We  lay  in   seemed  to   hang  unpoised  in 

space — ; 
Then  vaguely  to  discern  the  chilly  track 
Of  the  faint  moonlight's  fingers  in  a  line 
Of  blurred  reflections  o'er  the  black  pro- 
found. 

67 


SEA  AND  BAY 

I  was  a  weak  soul  in  a  world  unborn, 
Intent  upon  that  trembling,  dubious  sign 
Of  nature  taking  form.    An  unseen  brush 
Painted    an    unseen    canvas    with    pale 

strokes 
Of   silver. — While   I   dreamed,    a   heavy 

hand 
Fell  on  my  shoulder,  and  a  rumbling  voice 
Growled  out,  "Eight  bells!     Stand  by  for 

observations." 
I  fetched  my  book  and  by  the  lantern's 

light 
Took  down  the  figures,  as  the  fog-bank 

passed 
And  Bill  could  sight  the  Dipper.    Strange 

it  was 
There  in  the  moonlight  on  the  slanting 

deck 
To  gaze  across  the  weltering  bright  ex- 
panse, 
To  hear  the  lap  and  gurgle  of  the  waves. 
And  then  by  looking  at  some  distant  star 
And  doing  sums  like  those  I  had  done  at 

school 
To  ascertain  just  where  on  that  wide  sea 
68 


SEA 

Our     little     boat     was     tossing. — Very 

strange ! 
Out  there,  a  thousand  miles  from  home, 

but  so 
I  learned  how  science  rules  the  modern 

world. 

Finding  me   quick  at  figures.   Captain 

West 
Had  made  old  Bill  teach  me  the  rule-of- 

thumb 
Of  navigation.     In  a  month  or  so 
I  picked  up  quite  a  smattering,  learned  to 

use 
The  sextant,  calculate  our  longitude 
And  plot  the  course.  A  lucky  thing  for  me ! 
For  when  old  Bill  was  thrown  and  broke 

his  leg, 
I  took  his  place,  consulting  now  and  then, 
And  all  went  smoothly.     When  I  came 

back  home 
The  bay  meant  nothing  to  me,  I  was  all 
On  fire  to  make  my  fortune  on  the  sea. 
Folks  thought  me  even  prouder  than  be- 
fore, 

69 


SEA  AND  BAY 

But  It  was  not  so ;  now  I  felt  myself 
A  smaller  person  In  a  larger  world 
Where  I  must  make  my  way,  cost  what  it 

might. 
My  thoughts  and  speech  were  only  of  the 

sea, 
So  that  poor  Mother  knew  not  what  to  do, 
And  Hilda  was  less  friendly;  only  Jane 
Hailed  my  new   triumph  with  unstinted 

joy. 
I  studied  navigation  day  and  night. 
Then   in  the   spring   I   came   before    the 

Board 
And  got  my  license.     Uncle  Alden  knew 
The  owner  of  a  coaster,  and  through  him 
I  shipped  as  second  mate. 

I  shall  not  tell 
The  details  of  my  progress,  how  at  first 
The  ocean  seemed  a  highway  to  success 
Broad  and  inviting,  with  the  "realms  of 

gold" 
Not   far   to   seek,   just    somewhere   over 

there 
Across  yon  purple  rim,  beyond  the  lift 
Of  grey  sails  in  the  ofiing.     Day  by  day 
70 


SEA 

With  tireless  confidence  I  laid  my  course 
And  strove  to  get  my  bearings;  here  I  had 

gained, 
There  lost,  and  there  again  had  been  be- 
calmed. 
What  wonder  if  a  sailor  thinks  it  luck? 
'Tis  bitter  discipline  to  do  one's  best 
And  find  that  all  the  striving  comes  to 

naught, 
Frustrated  by  the  whim  of  wind  and  tide. 
So  the  first  vears  it  seemed,  I  had  no  way 
Of  showing  I  could  fill  a  higher  place. 
Then  came  promotion,  and  from  that  time 

on 
I  saw  that  every  sailor  has  his  chance 
With  others.    If  his  will-power  gives  him 

steam 
To  drive  him,  and  if  knowledge  holds  the 

wheel, 
He'll  dock  with  flags  a-flutter,  bands  a- 

blare. 
Life  after  all  is  science  and  hard  work; 
Failure  means  ignorance  on  the  quarter- 
deck 
Or  laziness  in  the  engine-room.    The  start 

71 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Counts    something,    but    good    reckoning 

counts  far  more. 
The    trip,    God    willing,    is    a    fair    long 

course, 
The  better  boat  has  time  enough  to  win. — 
You'll  note  my  figures  changed  from  sail 

to  steam; 
'Twas  not  an  error  but  a  simple  fact. 
For  after  various  berths  I  found  myself 
Mate  on  an  ocean  liner.     I  was  then 
But   twenty-five,    still   young   for   such    a 

post. 

I    liked   my   calling,    liked   to    think    I 
lived 
By  service  to  my  fellows;  not  by  tricks 
Of  pulling  down  some  rival  from  above 
And  climbing  to  his  place,  but  by  sheer 

grit, 
By  fighting  only  with  the  elements, 
Where  victory  meant  a  gain  to  all  con- 
cerned. 
With  every  trip  I  came  to  love  the  sea 
More  passionately, — that  purple  foaming 
cup 

72 


SEA 

Raised  by  an  unseen  giant  toward  the  sun, 
While  In  the  midst  our  vessel  crept  along 
Like  some  poor  kicking,  wing-bedraggled 
fly. 

Eager  of  spirit  as  I  was,  the  sea 
Gave  to  me   always  more   than   I   could 

take. 
That  huge  Impersonal  personality 
Through    changing   moods    of   loveliness 

and  strength, 
Of  starlight  calm   or  devastating  storm. 
Was  always  new  and  vital.     No  contempt 
Was  bred  of  long  acquaintance,   but  an 

awe 
Deep  as  the  depth  of  mid-sea  solitudes 
Fell  on  my  heart  with  every  dawn  that 

bloomed, 
A  saffron-petaled  lily.  In  the  east. 
For  Aphrodite,  mystic  and  divine 
As  In  the  tales  that  charm   the   soul   of 

youth 
In  men  and  nations,  floating  on  her  shell 
Would  wake  and  smile  to  greet  the  quick- 
ening light 

73 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Whose  radiant  fingers  would  unloose  the 

robe 
Of  rainbow  mist  that  veiled  her  shining 

form, 
Fair  as  the  rosy-tinted  Alpine  snow, 
And  graceful  as  the  gently  curving  wave. 
Here  was  no  Venus  to  enflame  desire 
And  break  the  spell  of  dreaming,  but  a 

girl, 
The  maiden  Aphrodite,  ocean-born. 

Unwed,     unwooed,     unseen     of     mortal 

man, — 
The  lover's  earliest  thought  enshrined  in 

light, 
Not  touched  by  mid-day  warmth.     How 

oft  I  knew 
Delight  no  words  can  hint  at!     It  would 

steal 
Upon  me  with  the  dawn,  fading  toward 

noon. 
And  with  the  sunset  hovering  once  again 
Above  the  glinting  waters,  till  it  passed, 
Leaving  to   me   a   joy  more   sharp   than 

pain. 

74 


SEA 

Such   was   the   ocean's   loveliness.      Its 

might, 
With    throes    of    shattering,    stupendous 

power, 
Aroused  in  me  a  sort  of  berserk  lust 
To  match  with  this  grim  foeman  breast 

to  breast. 
When  the  fierce  gale  descended  with  the 

dark, 
Lashing    the    waves    which    grinned    like 

snarling  wolves. 
And     the     keen     wind     flew     screaming 

through  the  spars, 
I  felt  my  Anglo-Saxon  blood  run  fast 
To  greet  the  combat.     Then  before  my 

gaze 
A  field  of  dismal  carnage  dimly  stretched, 
Where   heroes    clove   their   way  through 

walls  of  shields. 
And  whizzing  arrows  laid  the  spearmen 

low. 
Or  my  stern  fancy,  with  a  bolder  flight, 
Would   limn   the    fatal   Twilight   of    the 

Gods: 
The  warriors  of  Valhalla  grappling  there 

75 


SEA  AND  BAY 

With    giants    and    with    demons,    mighty 

Thor 
Strangling    the    Midgard    Serpent,    Odin 

near 
In  deadly  combat  with  the  Fenris  Wolf. 
I  heard  the  whinnying  of  Valkyrie  steeds 
Above    the    murky    world,    mid    rolling 

clouds 
Shot    through   with    shafts    of    lightning. 

Thus  my  mind, 
Fed  with   Norse   fable,   peopled    all   the 

stage 
With  mythic  monsters,  when  the  wind  and 

sea 
Would  summon  these  gaunt  shadows  of 

the  past. 
Bidding  me  claim  the  ancient  heritage 
Bequeathed  to  me  by  viking  ancestors. 

I  could  not  long  indulge  myself  with 
scenes 
Of   Greek   and   Norse    mythology.      My 

work 
Was  constant  and  exacting,  a  mistake 
76 


SEA 

Of  hand  or  judgment  and  our  ship  had 

gone 
To  Davy  Jones.     Unending  mathematics 
Did   now    what   once    the    practiced    eye 

would  do. 
All  this  has  science  wrought.     So  much 

is  now 
Done  by  machinery,  that  the  race  of  men 
Are  scarcely  more  than  tools  in  the  great 

mill 
Of  modern  industry.    Our  lower  self 
Is  bestial,  as  the  law  of  flesh  ordains. 
Small  room  for  soul  is  left  between  the 

two. 
Upper    and   nether   mill-stones,    grinding 

man 
'Twixt  brutish  sense   and  hard,   insistent 

mind. 
'Tis  only  Nature  saves  us  from  ourselves, 
Who    with   her   simple   love   serene   and 

strong, 
Her  all-enchanting  daylight  wizardry. 
Calls  to  the  child  in  us  to  come  and  play, 
To  leave  the  unhealthy  house  of  goblin 

thoughts 

77 


SEA  AND  BAY 

That  scratch  and  scamper  in  the  empty 

rooms, 
And  come  Into  the  open.     If  we  yield, 
She  will  not  cease  to  draw  us  on  and  on, 
Leading  us  mystically  back  to  God. 
And  what  more  godlike  has  our  universe 
Than  the  unchanging,  ever-changeful  sea, 
The  transient  symbol  of  eternal  truth? 

Sometimes  amid  the  storm  I  heard  a 
voice 

That  penetrated  to  my  soul;  a  voice, 

Persistent  through  the  tremor  of  the 
winds 

And  deeper  than  the  crashing  of  the 
waves, 

Which  gave  me  confidence.  'Twas  not 
the  voice 

Of  reason,  which  had  taught  me  to  de- 
spair. 

The  tones  which  then  I  heard  were  for 
the  ear 

Of  faith  alone,  and  dimly  as  they  spoke. 

They  told  me  that  my  life  was  in  His  care 

78 


SEA 

Who  had  made  the  sea  and  held  it  In  His 

hand. 
Once  in  especial  did  I  feel  that  faith, 
In     a    West     Indian     hurricane: — waves 

mast-high 
And  purplish  black  beneath  a  sky  which 

hung 
Like  the  Great  Terror,  while   a  ghastly 

light 
Shone  through,  as  if  the  malice  of  his  eyes 
Glared    out   beneath   the   menace    of   his 

frown. 
Though  gale  and  billow  rushed  at  his  com- 
mand. 
Yet  he,  beholding  with  satanic  pride. 
Forbore  to  turn  his  Nero  thumb  and  give 
The  signal  to  destroy  us.    We  meanwhile 
Fought  for  two  days  to  meet  the  storm 

head-on. 
Our  small  ship  lurching  down  the  ocean 

hills 
As  to  some  dread  abyss,  then  pausing,  ris- 
ing 
With  slow  heart-sickening  effort,  throw- 
ing tons 

79 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Of    foamless    water    from    her    forward 

deck, 
To  ciimb  another  hill  with  drunken  heave 
And  topple  helpless  downward.     As  her 

bow 
Thus   overhung,    a    smaller   wave   would 

smite 
Like  a  skilled  boxer's  fist  beneath  the  chin, 
Shattering  the  strength.     A  sidewise  blow 

would  drive 
Us  bulwarks  under,  pushing  ever  down, 
Till  scarcely  we  could  stagger  up  again. 
Within  the  ship  'twas  dark  as  doom,  and 

screams 
Of  women  rang  like  shrieks  of  tortured 

souls. 
On  the  third  day  the  rudder  was  torn  off, 
The     engine     stalled,     the     steel     plates 

wrenched  and  bent 
Till  water  poured  in  through  a  score  of 

seams. 
The  wind  was  even  stronger  than  before, 
The  sky  more  angry  and  the  waves  more 

huge. 

80 


SEA 

No  one  had  slept,  our  food  was  running 

short, 
And    we    were    rolling    crippled    In    the 

trough 
Of  waves  so  steep  we  hardly  saw  the  sky- 
Between  them.     Then  at  last  the  captain 

paused 
From  fighting,   and  his  tense-drawn  face 

relaxed. 
(I  was  alone  with  him  in  the  pilot  house.) 
His  solemn  gentle  look  was  strange  to  me 
Amid  such  pressing  peril,  till  he  spoke : 
'*Carr,  under  God,  we've  done  the  best  we 

could. 
We'll  leave  it  to  His  will,  perhaps  He 

means 
To  show  how  vain  our  efforts   are   and 

make 
Us  trust  in  Him  entirely. — Well,  I  do. 
And  if  we  sink  next  minute,  as  we  may, 
I'll  never  think  but  He  ordained   it  so. 
And  yet  His  Hand  might  save  us  even 

now." 
I  looked  toward  heaven  as  the  vessel  rose, 
8i 


SEA  AND  BAY 

And  there  above  the  wave's  long  crest  I 

saw 
A  blue  rift  open  In  the  pall  of  cloud, 
And   thin   pure   rays  of  sunlight  spilling 

through. 
Then  the  Great  Terror  trembled,  and  the 

glare 
Faded  within  his  eyes,  his  form  disllmned, 
He    shrank    away    before    the    smile    of 

God.— 
That  night  the  tempest  fell  and  we  were 
saved. 
There  was  God's  mercy.     Oftener  still 
His  love 
Would    be    made    visible,    when,    sunset- 
blest, 
My  gaze  would  drift  across  the  glimmer- 
ing floor, 
inimitably  lovely,  till  it  reached 
And  rested  on  the  glowing  citadels 
Of  rare  celestial  promise,  crowned  with 

light 
Eternal;  for  although  the  sun  would  sink, 
My  soul  would  take  such  living  hues  of 
joy 

82 


SEA 

That  memory's  brush  might  use  them  once 

again 
To  paint  the  scene  in  hours  when  prison- 
ing skies 
Would  shroud  the  day  with  gloom. 

These  greater  times 
Of  exaltation  and  of  insight  came 
But  seldom  with  their  high,  transcendent 

power; 
Not  often  was  it  granted  me  to  read 
The  word  of  God  (I  mean  the  world) 

with  faith 
So  happy.    No,  nor  could  I  always  feel 
The  Grecian  beauty  or  Teutonic  strength 
Reflected  from  the  myths  I  used  to  read 
In  school-boy  days.     Most  of  the  time  it 

seemed 
The  ocean  was  a  well-established  friend, 
Breathing  a  cheerful  boisterous  comrade- 
ship, 
Jostling  and  tussling  as  we  romped  along 
To  try  my  strength  and  temper,  keep  me 

fit 
In  mind  and  muscle.     Or  again  in  calm 

83 


SEA  AND  BAY 

The    deep    would   be    a    woman,    gentle- 
browed, 
But   full   of   ancient  guile  which  blinked 

askance 
As  serpent-subtle  as  the  liquid  look 
Of  Cleopatra's  veiled  and  languid  eyes. 
Something    there    was    of    wickedness, — 

which  all 
Must  meet  who  would  not  shun  the  whole 

of  life, — 
With   much   of  whimsical   indifference. 
So  looked  the  ocean,  and  I  loved  the  look. 
And  there  were  other  moods  innumerable: 
Fits  of  the   suUens  under  leaden  clouds, 
Fizzlings  of  kittenish  temper.     Then  at 

night 
In  stifling  calms  of  tropic  latitudes, 
The  sea  would  slumber  like  an  odalisque 
With  silver  bosom  and  voluptuous  limbs 
Foam-pillowed  there  beneath  the  passion- 
ate stars. 
So    Nature    gave    me   knowledge    of    the 

world, 
And  things  which  most  men  seek  for  in 
their  kind 

84 


SEA 

I  saw  In  this  her  mighty  looking-glass. 
'Twas  for  such  knowledge  that  I  bore  the 

pains 
Of  endless  mathematics. 

As  I  said, 
I  had  small  leisure  in  those  prentice  years 
For  anything  but  charts  and  logarithms. 
A  host  of  fancies  filled  my  vacant  hours 
Just  as  in  boyhood,  though  I  spent  some 

time 
Learning  the  speech  of  countries  where 

we  touched. 
So  life  was  well  divided;  strenuous  work 
As  hard  and  actual  as  a  marline-spike, 
And  leisure  on  whose   soft  and   dreamy 

tide 
I  floated  to  another  world.    No  doubt 
But  that  I  nursed  a  growing  self-conceit 
Of  my  own  way  of  living,  for  I  sought 
No  friends,  I  asked  for  no  society; 
The  world  of  suffering,  all  the  vast  com- 
plex 
Of  human  strife  and  sorrow,  was  for  me 
An  ugly  tangle — none  of  my  affairs; 
I  had  my  separate  duty  to  fulfill. 
8s 


SEA  AND  BAY 

With  other  officers  I  seldom  went 
Beyond  the  laugh  of  messmate  jollity. 
My  puritan  training  by  the  bay  had  given 
A  feeling  of  reserve  when  glasses  clinked 
And  speech  threw  off  restraint;  my  studi- 
ous bent 
Held  me  aloof  as  often, — better  give 
My  time  to  mastering  French  than  lose 

it  all 
In  vain  enjoyment.     What  New  England 

word 
Holds  so  much  ready-made  philosophy 
As  the  word  "waste"?     I  didn't  mean  to 

waste. 
I  never  spoke  of  what  I  really  loved — 
My  memories  of  the  bay,  my  lone  sea- 
dreams — 
But  used  to  watch  and  listen  to  the  rest 
Without  much  mixing  in.     Though  I  be- 
came 
The  target  of  their  wit  as  once  I  had  been 
The  mark  of  school-boy  snowballs,  yet  I 

grew 
Ere  long  case-hardened.     Thus  on  sea  or 
shore 

86 


SEA 

I  lived  alone  and  did  the  better  work. 
Women  I  met  but  did  not  learn  to  know. 
The  thought  of  Hilda  kept  me  from  the 

haunts 
Of  the  worse  kind;  and  had  I  really  found 
A  girl  who  would  have  roused  the  best  in 

me, 
I  lacked  the  dash  that  storms  a  woman's 

heart, 
And  my  profession  never  left  me  long 
In  any  single  port.     Such  then  I  was 
At  twenty-five,  not  lonely  but  alone 
And  quite  content  to  stay  so. 

It  was  now 
For  the  first  time  I  really  had  a  chance 
To  see  strange  lands  and  peoples.     From 

the  ship 
These  lands  had  seemed  a  moving-picture 

show 
Unrolling  in  an  endless  film,  while  we 
In  our  high  station  were  the  gallery  gods. 
My     days     on     shore     had     been     more 

thronged  with  sights — 
The  film  had  run  more  quickly,  one  might 

say,— 

87 


SEA  AND  BAY 

But  I  had  never  lived  myself  into 

The  hfe   of   those   I   saw.     At  last  one 

March 
Our  boat  was  dry-docked,  and  the  officers 
Given  a  three-months'  leave.     Before,  I 

used 
To  spend  my  furloughs  by  the  bay,  but 

now — 
My     eyes     began     to     twinkle     at     the 

thought — 
I  was  for  Paris !     'Twas  not  that  I  meant 
To  plunge  into  the  current,  just  to  taste 
The  joy  of   danger.      Puritan   principles 
Grow  somewhat  out  of  fashion  by  long 

wear. 
So  done,  I  settled  at  a  cheap  hotel, 
Drank  absinthe,  roamed  the  Latin  quar- 
ter, went 
To  student  balls,  revues  and  cabarets. 
I  saw  the  usual  sights — the  Louvre,  Ver- 
sailles— 
And  being  alone  spent  all  my  time  indeed 
Most  commonplacely.     In  the  afternoon 
I  often  took  a  carriage  in  the  Bois, 
Till  when  the  useless  melting  of  the  francs 


SEA 

Wore  on  my  nerves,  I  would  dismount  in 
haste. 

'Twas  pleasant  wandering  through  the  or- 
dered groves 

To  watch  the  amorous  couples;  she  with 
looks 

Bent  on  the  ground,  mute  and  expression- 
less; 

He  voluble  as  a  magpie,  leaning  toward 
her 

With  watery  eyes  and  weak  importunate 
hands. 

Better  I  liked  the   family  picnic  groups: 

The  fat  old  father  dozing  with  his  pipe, 

The  mother  packing  up,  their  progeny 

Tossing  a  colored  ball — they  never  caught 

it, 
But   laughed    and    ran    and   tossed,    and 

laughed  the  more. 
At  night   I   strolled   along  the  glittering 

Seine, 
Noting  the  richness  of  the  yellow  lights 
Set  in  a  violet  haze,  or  softlier  still 
Reflected    from    the    black    and    broken 

stream, 

89 


SEA  AND  BAY 

While  far  above  rose  the  gray  spectral 

towers 
Of  Notre  Dame.     Then  with  a   sudden 

burst 
I  would  come  out  into  that  blind  white 

glare, 
The  Place  de  la  Concorde.  A  dash  across, 
And  I  would  enter  the  "Elysian  Fields,'' 
Cool  haunts  of  quiet,  noble  avenues 
Of  trees — though  scarcely  then  inhabited 
By  spirits  of  the  blest.  But  to  be  frank 
The  sights  I  saw  within  doors  or  without. 
The  painted  women  and  the  leering  men, 
Were  more  than  I  could  stomach.     I  had 

read 
In  Swinburne  of  the  glories  of  the  flesh, 
*'Rapture  and  roses,"  but  a  single  glimpse 
Of  pleasure,  so  miscalled,  sufficed  for  me. 
It  seemed  as  though  the  vices  of  the  East, 
The  abominable  rites  of  Ashtoreth, 
Were  here  transplanted  to  put  forth  new 

flowers 
A  hundred-fold  more  poisonous  and  ob- 
scene. 
I  tried  to  vent  the  fancy  in  a  song. 
90 


SEA 


The  Song  of  Paris 

Oh,  I  am  the  new  Astarte, 

The  goddess  of  midnight  sin. 
At  eve  when  I  mount  to  my  throne  on  high 
The  terrible  hue  of  leprosy 

Gleams  white  on  my  scaly  skin. 
But  the  music  clashes  and  ye  grow  blind, 
The  lust-whip  lashes  you,  sense  and  mind. 

Ye  knaves,  ye  knaves, 

Ye  knaves  that  boast  you  are  free: 
Though  ye  quaff  amain  till  the  quick  cham- 
pagne 
Makes  cruel  the  heart  and  mad  the  brain, 

Ye  are  slaves,  ye  are  slaves. 

Yea,   thrice-bound  slaves   to  me. 

Oh,  I  am  the  modern  Circe 

Of  men  with  the  souls  of  swine. 
Blaspheming   the   purest  of  gods   above. 
You  feed  upon  lust  and  call  it  love. 

Ye  man-seeming  beasts  of  mine. 
You  may  drink  or  dance,  you  may  drab 
or  play 

91 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Till  you  shrink  askance  at  the  dawn  of 
day 
From  the  flame,  from  the  flame, 
From  the  flame  of  the  angry  sun, 
Whirl  on,  whirl  on  like  the  dizzy  roulette, 
The  grim  old  hanker  will  have  you  yet 
Ere  the  game,  ere  the  game, 
Ere  the  perilous  game  he  done. 

One  morning,  steered  by  fate,  I  drift- 
ed through 
The     Luxembourg    Museum,     and   very 

soon, 
Still  steered  by  fate,  I  came  upon  a  shoal 
Of  foreign  paintings.     Very  listlessly 
I  tacked  about,  when  with  a  sudden  puff 
A  gust  of  feeling  took  my  sails  aback 
And  laid  me  on  my  beam-ends. — There  it 

hung 
An  innocent  little  canvas,  four  by  three; 
But  with  the  first  quick  glimpse  it  took  my 

soul 
Into  another  world. — I  seemed  to  stand, 
A  youngster  in  his  teens,  beside  the  Bay 
In  Farmer  Lawton's  field,  looking  beyond 
92 


SEA 

The    new-piled    ricks    toward    Cladding's 
Cove. 

The  clouds, 
High   and  transparent,   floated  meltingly 
Across  the  pale  blue  sky.      'Twas  after- 
noon. 
The  day  had  been  a  sultry  one,  for  still 
The   scent  of  yarrow  and  bayberry  was 

warm. 
Although  a  fresh  sea-breeze  was  blowing 

in 
And  crisping  the  smooth  inlet. — I  beheld, 
I  reveled,  but  a  sinking  emptiness 
Came  o'er  my  spirit.     Something  once  I'd 

had 
That   I    had   done    without,    but   wanted 

now; 
It  was  not  home  or  kin,  not  Hilda  even. 
Then — then    the    curtains    of    the    past 

swung  back 
And  there  he  stood:  short,  stout  and  jocu- 
lar 
As  ever,  with  his  keen  dark  eyes  alert 
To  pierce  into   the   heart  of  things,   his 
glance 

93 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Kind,  but  less  kindly  than  Inspiring.     Ah! 
At  last  I  knew — I  needed  comradeship : 
An  eye  to  see  the  best  in  me,  a  voice 
To  call   that  best  to  being.     Only  once 
Had  such  a  friend  been  mine;  I  bent  and 

read 
His  name  upon  the  picture :  Atwood  Brin- 

ton! 

Half  an  hour  later  I  was  being  shown 
Up  a  dark  staircase,  at  the  second  door 
I  knocked,  the  door  was  opened,  there  he 

stood! 
He  eyed  me,  started,  took  me  by  the  arm. 
And  turned  me  to  the  light,  then  looked 

again. 
*Tes,    by   the    Lord,    it's   Alden    Carr!" 

With  that 
He  gripped  my  hand  in  both  of  his.    Ten 

years 
Faded,  and  I  who  stood  a  head  above  him 
Shrank  to  a  boy;  the  tears  were  in  my 

eyes. 

Rare  were  the  days  that  followed,  for 
'tis  rare 

94 


SEA 

After  a  ten  years'  gap  that  severed  ties 
Unite    so    promptly.       Brinton,     I    soon 

found, 
Had    overworked    himself,    was    feeling 

blue — 
"Shop  and  sophistication,"  he  once  said; 
*'I  need  the  tonic  of  a  country  face 
For  my  complaint."     We  talked  of  life 

and  art 
And  books;  he  wondered  that  I'd  read  so 

much. 
"Some  of  my  seed  fell  on  good  ground,  I 

hope; 
It  hasn't  always  been  so."     When  I  grew 
More  free  with  him  I  found  at  length  a 

chance 
To  show  my  "Song  of  Paris."     "Not  so 

bad," 
His  comment  was :     "Been  reading  Swin- 
burne, eh?" 
My  blush  was  answer.     "No,  not  bad  at 

all, 
For  your  small  point  of  view.    But  mind, 

young  man, 

95 


SEA  AND  BAY 

You've  only  seen  one  phase,  and  note  be- 
sides 
It's  seldom  all  you  see  is  all  there  is." 
He  took  me  round,  and  showed  me  other 

sights : 
The  scientists,  the  cheerful  family  life. 
The   genuine   artists — not   the   kind   that 

wear 
Slouch  hats,  loose  neckerchiefs  and  cordu- 
roys; 
But  normal-looking  citizens.     We  made 
Excursions  to  the  country,  saw  the  folk 
That  Millet  painted,  visited  chateaux, 
All  harmony  and  elegance.    What  cliffs 
We    found    at    Etretat,    what    glass    at 

Chartres, 
What  pretty  woodland  nooks  at  Fontaine- 

bleau ! 
And     everywhere     I     saw    beneath     the 

scum. 
Like   a    deep    stream    that    runs    through 

stagnant  pools. 
The  true  French  people,  clean  and  pure 
and  strong. 

96 


SEA 

All  this  I  owed  to  Brinton.     Art  and 

life 
Revealed   their   hidden    treasures    at   his 

word. 
Much  he  had  seen,  and  two  rare  traits  of 

soul 
In  him  were  blended:  first,  a  love  of  life, 
A  sprightly,  never-tamed  enthusiasm; 
And,  hardly  less,  a  firm  judicial  sense 
Of  intellectual  honesty.    The  two 
Would  often  be  at  war,  but  for  myself 
I  half  despise  a  man  whose  ways  are  set 
In  a  hard  mould  of  self-complacency. 
As  mine  had  been  too  much.    "Don't  bind 

your  eyes 
With  prejudice  and  play  at  bllnd-man's- 

buflf 
Your  whole  life  through,"  was  Brinton's 

favorite  saw. 
Why  we  got  on  so  well  I  hardly  know, 
Except  that  I  did  feel  within  my  heart 
A  longing  for  the  truth,  a  willingness 
To  try  to  see.     Whatever  was  the  cause. 
We  chimed;  the  years  between  his  age  and 

mine 

97 


SEA  AND  BAY 

But  made  the  concord  sweeter.    Then  one 

day 
While    rummaging   through   his   pictures, 

suddenly 
Turning    from    an    old    canvas,    Brinton 

cried 
"Let's  go  to  Italy!"    That  night  we  went. 

We   settled  first   at  Florence.      For  a 

while 
My  wits  were  at  a  loss;  the  city  seemed 
So    fearfully    run    down,    and    half    the 

sights 
Were  hid  in  churches  dismal  as  the  grave. 
Where  images  and  incense  made  me  think 
Of  idol-worship.     Michelangelo, 
However,  took  me  prisoner  at  his  will 
With  one  high  sovereign  look;  I  needed 

but 
To   see    his    David   kindling   with   God's 

rage — 
Funny!  that  marble  eyes  can  flash — the 

while 
He  measured  off  the  distance  to  his  mark. 
The  forehead  of  Goliath.     So  I  think 

98 


SEA 

We  all  should  do:  have  temper  in  con- 
trol,— 
Heart  like  a  boiler,  head  the  engineer, — 
And  then  the  Medici  tombs !  I  never  saw 
The  human  body  since  without  a  leap 
Of  wonder  in  my  pulse. — The  other  chaps 
Were  hard  to  know,  but  Brinton  helped 

me  out. 
"You  don't  like  Giotto?    Well  I'd  be  sur- 
prised 
If  you  did  like  him  at  the  start.    But  look ! 
That  fresco  is  the  voice  of  a  strong  faith 
Speaking  the  language  of  a  child.      His 

faith 
Is  all  he  tried  to  give ;  the  lesser  men 
Can  mouth  big  words  or  scatter  flowers  of 

speech. 
And  Fra  Angelico  is  much  the  same. 
Just  realize  you're  looking  at  a  soul, 
And  you'll   see   right.     Those   pink  and 

gilded  saints — 
What  are  they?    Why,  the  joy  of  holiness 
Made  visible — no  lesser  thing  than  that. 
Art  after  all  is  just  a  sort  of  dress 
99 


SEA  AND  BAY 

For  soul:  sometimes  too  meagre,  oftener 

though 
Too     rich — observe     that     Titian!- 


again, 
Fantastic — Botticelli !    There's  a  soul 
Compact  of  subtle  sweetness,  but  his  garb 
Is  so  outlandish  that  the  average  man 
Thinks   us    all    fools    for   bowing   at   his 

shrine. 
Perhaps    the    world, — nature    and    man 

alike, — 
Is  but  a  manifold  garment,  as  Carlyle 
Is  fond  of  putting  it;  and  all  our  aim 
Should  be  through  all  these  forms  to  seek 

the  Soul 
Which  is  in  all  and  is  all." 

Every  day 
I  learned  to  see  art  better,  till  at  last 
I   chose   my   favorites:   Raphael   first  of 

course. 
Supremely  lovely  and  supremely  great; 
Tender  Correggio,  humanly  divine; 
Aerial  Tintoretto.     Why  I  chose 
These  three  I  scarce  can  tell — mere  chance 

maybe. 

lOO 


SEA 

In  each  of  them  I  felt  a  special  power, 
Direct  and  elemental. 

But  although 
Art  loomed  so  big,  it  did  not  even  then 
Block  the  free  view  of  nature.     Best  of 

all 
Our  trip,  I  think,  were  the  long  walks  we 

took 
In  the  enfolding  sunlight.    Oft  we  scanned 
From  high  Fiesole  that  scene  of  scenes: 
The     city     girt     with     terraced     orange 

groves, 
Giotto's  white  shaft,  the  Duomo's  sombre 

eye, 
The  palace-towers  and  steeples.     But  in 

soul 
We  looked  upon  the  cradle  of  the  arts, 
And   Florence,   the    old   nurse,    her   eyes 

grown  dim 
With   dreaming  of  her  sons. — Then  we 

would  turn 
To  view  a  modern  phase,  the  countryside : 
Its  new-turned  loam  and  dust-gray  olive 

trees, 

lOI 


SEA  AND  BAY 

The  almond  buds  upturned  like  cool  pink 
flames 

On  branching  candelabra;  over  there 

A  yellow  villa  suavely  indolent 

Mid  cypress  walks  and  rose-vines;  close  at 
hand 

A  smooth  white  curve  of  road,  a  stone- 
breaker 

Who  crouched  In  shade  and  cracked  right 
merrily 

With  his  small  hammer.  Now  a  ponder- 
ous team 

Of  milk-white  oxen  shouldered  into  sight, 

Red  ribbons  on  their  horns;  the  driver 
wore 

A  crimson  sash  and  flicked  a  raw-hide 
whip. 

A  little  further  by  a  cottage  door 

A  stolid  beauty,  grandly  undisturbed, 

Nursed  her  bambino.  Next,  around  the 
turn. 

We'd  find  a  group  of  idlers  round  an  inn, 

While  to  the  sway  of  fiddle  and  of  pipe 

Slim  youths  took  hands  and  waltzed. 

I02 


SEA 

Ere  long  this  life, 
So  pagan,  free  and  bold,  began  to  melt 
My  stock  of  narrow  notions.     I  could  see 
Such  ways  were  healthy,  though  they  were 

not  mine. 
And  in  the  church  or  by  the  wayside  cross 
Was  pure  religion,  credulous  possibly. 
But  suited  to  the  needs  of  simple  hearts. 
"The  world   is   all  one   country" — that's 

the  way 
These  kind  Italians  put  it,  and  it's  true. 
Easy  to  read  in  books,  but  very  hard 
To  grasp  in  fact — at  least  it  was  to  me. 

Rome  we  saw  too  and  Venice,  neither 

though 
Seemed  half  as  genuine  as  Florence  did. — 
I  haven't  Byron's  brain,  far  less  his  voice. 
And  ruins  are  to  me  just  ruins. — But  still 
With  Brinton's  help  I  caught  a  glimpse 

or  two 
Amid  the  jumbled  chaos ;  this  at  least. 
"Learn  to  see   art  and  life  as  one,"  he 

said, 
And  made  me  think  it  over.     "Art  is  life 
103 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Seen  by  a  master's  eye.  You  don't  see  all, 
But  you  see  deeper.  Art's  the  specialist 
Who  helps  you  look  at  life;  and  as  for 

life, 
If  you've  not  seen  enough  of  life  to  feel 
The  life  in  art — best    leave    them    both 

alone 
And  live  mechanically  with  the  crowd." 

Despite  his  flow  of  spirits  I  could  see 
That  Brinton  often  grew  depressed;  no 

doubt 
The  years  weighed  down  his  elasticity, 
But  with  his  stoicism  in  worldly  things 
He  ought  to  accept  the  unavoidable, 
I  thought.    One  evening  as  the  time  drew 

near 
For  our  return,  he  spoke  out:     "Alden, 

lad, 
I  told  you  once  not  to  tie  up  too  soon. 
Perhaps  I  was  wrong,  at  any  rate  too  soon 
Is  better  than  too  late — or  not  at  all. 
I'm  getting  melancholy;  all  my  life 
I've  drawn  on  my  vitality — for  art, 
104 


SEA 

For  talk,   for   everything — and  now  my 

balance 
Is  running  short.     A  woman  In  your  life 
Gives  back  to  you  what  you  lavish  on  the 

world, 
And  children  show  you  that  you  shall  not 

die 
Even  on  earth  here.     I  have  lived  in  you, 
Alden,  these  last  two  months,  and  as  we 

part 
The  best  advice  I  have  is  not  to  do 
As  I  have  done.     Go  back  then  to  your 

queen 
Of  curds  and  cream,  your  Hilda,  marry 

her 
If  things  are  still  the  same.     If  not,  then 

keep 
Your   weather    eye    open    as    you    cruise 

along." 

My   furlough   finished,   I   rejoined  my 
ship 
With  treasure-freighted  eyes  and  mind  too 

full 
Of  undigested  wisdom,  but  my  heart 
105 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Now  knew  a  keener  pang  of  loneliness 
Than  ever.    Brinton's  parting  words  sunk 

deep ; — 
I  wanted  more  than  friendship  after  all. 
The  thought  of  Hilda  often  starred  my 

dreams 
With  tender  radiance,  but  my  later  self 
Seemed  large  as  Sindbad's  genie.     How 

go  back 
Into     that    cramped    bay-bottle    and   be 

corked? 
I  was  a  citizen  of  the  world,  forsooth! 
'Twas  summer  now;  the  season  had  come 

round 
When  human  birds  of  passage  flock  across 
To    Europe,    and   the    thronging   life    on 

board 
Did  but  accent  my  blank  of  solitude. 
The  mischievous  youngsters  romping  on 

the  deck 
Woke   memories    of    school-days,    girlish 

laughter 
Came   to   me   from   some   happy   distant 

world 

io6 


SEA 

That  half  belonged  to  me — I  had  read  so 

much 
Of   women    and    romance.      With    fierce 

regret 
I  felt  that  I  had  shunned  the  life  of  men 
To  skulk  in  books,  which,  as  at  length  I 

knew, 
Gave  me  but  murmurs    of    a    sea    more 

strange 
Than  my  beloved  ocean.     I  looked  on 
And  longed  to  join,  to  mingle  with  the 

whirl, 
Be  lost  in  it  and  lose  my  lonely  self. 
My  spirit  languished  in  its  narrow  bay 
And  longed  to  venture  past  the  harbor 

mouth 
That  shut  me  from  the  world  of  men  out- 
side. 

Adventure    to   the   young   man's   mind 
spells  woman. 
'Twas  at  New  York  I  saw  her  come  on 

board. 
Unknown    till     then,     she    touched     the 
memory 

107 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Of  my  first  view  of  ocean.    Tall  she  was, 

Darkly  majestic,   falcon-eyed,  her  glance 

Moulded  of  starlight  mystery  and  soft 
fire 

Most  like  the  moonless  glow  of  tropic 
seas. 

She  looked  upon  me  idly,  caught  my 
gaze, — 

That  instant  I  was  hers,  deep,  deep  sub- 
merged 

In  the  first  glamour  of  those  dangerous 
eyes. 

Their  look  was  not  like  Hilda's,  frank 
and  true 

(The  bay  smile),  but  a  storm-cloud,  light- 
ning-fringed. 

My  soul  was  sailing  an  enchanted  gulf 

Through  labyrinths  unknown  and  treach- 
erous reefs. 

While  fragrant  airs,  from  lotos  islands 
borne. 

Stung  the  dull  sense  but  steeped  the  wake- 
ful mind 

io8 


SEA 

To  slumber  at  the  helm. — Such  dreams  as 

this 
Held  me  by  daylight  on  a  crowded  deck. 
The    greater   then   her   magic.     She  had 

power 
To  waft  her  willing  lover  with  a  word 
From   commonplace   to-day   to   lands   of 

wonder 
In  timeless  regions,    lands    of    desperate 

deeds, 
(The  flame-wild  impulses  of  lawless  love 
Which  rend  the  robes  of  faith) — where 

Helen  mourned, 
And  cold  Semiramis  curled  her  scornful 

lip, 
Where    Dido    walked    and   proud-souled 

Guinevere. 
Such  was  our  world  and  such  was  Rosa- 
mund. 
A  woman  with  a  past,  the  world  might 

say. 
What  then?    The  sea  has  witnessed  many 

a  crime 
Of  love  and  blasting  hate  and  fell  revenge 
109 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Since  Iseult  paced  the  deck  of  Tristram's 

ship 
With  murder  in  her  heart  for  him  she 

loved. 

One  rants,  no  doubt,  speaking  of  such  a 

time. 
Where  facts  would  seem  but  vulgar.    All 

I  know 
Is  that  for  me,  despite  the  taint  of  wrong. 
Those  moments  had  a  draught  of  ecstasy 
Not  all  debasing;  I  would  not  attempt 
All  that  a  bolder  man  had  scorned  to  miss. 
Her  tyranny  had  bounds,  but  for  the  most 
I  was  her  plaything.  In  our  secret  nook 
High  up  beneath  the  chill  luxurious  moon 
How  often  would  she  tease  me  with  her 

lips 
And  taunt  me  with  her  domineering  eyes 
Because  I  dared  not  take,  till  spurred  and 

checked, 
I  yielded  to  her  weakly,  grovelingly, 
Owning   myself   no   match;    whether   she 

willed 
To  keep  me  off,  or  with  more  mad  caprice 
no 


SEA 

Leaned  back  Into  my  arms  and  closed  her 

eyes. 
Her  mastery  was  to  me  a  noble  trait. 
Science  she  had  to  gauge  the  sudden  thrill 
Of  leaping  pulses,  or  to  drug  the  soul 
With  anodynes  and  fierce  intoxicants. 
All  that  she  did,   she   did  from  love  of 

power; 
An  arbitrary  whim  would  give  the  spark, 
And  straight  her  will  would  flame,   her 

changing  moods 
Were    less    from    joy    of    mischief    than 

desire 
To  exercise  her  strength.     We  think  the 

sea 
Malignant,  but  'tis  not  so ;  quite  by  chance 
Calm  and  typhoon  alternate,  each  as  true 
A  phase  as  other.    Yet  I  feel  the  ocean 
Has  joy  of  being,  joy  of  curbless  power, 
Whether  it  spare,  destroy  or  cast  adrift; 
Our  part  to  meet  each  mood  with  stead- 
fast mind 
And  our  best  skill. — The  passage  of  eight 

days 

III 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Fled  like  a  cloud,  and  Rosamund  at  the 

last, 
Deaf  as  the  billow  to  a  castaway. 
Laughing — as   well    she    might — to    hear 

my  prayers 
And  idle  talk  of  marriage,  flung  me  off 
Like  so  much  seaweed  on  a  barren  shore. 

Crippled  In  strength  and  driven  from 
my  course, 

I  swung  a  long  while  helpless,  soul-be- 
calmed 

In  sluggish  doldrums  and  sargasso  seas. 

Then,  winning  free,  I  veered  with  random 
flaws 

And  dangerous  currents;  or,  to  put  it 
plain, 

I  worked  without  a  purpose,  gave  myself 

To  rougher  uses,  joining  with  the  rest 

In  drink  and  cards.  I  might  have  fallen 
low 

But  for  the  stern  New  England  self- 
respect 

Formed  in  my  bay-life  by  my  mother's 
care, 

112 


SEA 

Jane's  pride  in  me  and  Hilda's  friendly 

trust. 
But  even  so,  the  fibre  of  my  thought 
Was  coarsened  and  I  listened  now  to  tales 
Of    woman's    moral    ugliness.      One    of 

these, 
No   doubt  because   I  made  the  case  my 

own, 
Obsessed  me  till  I  put  it  Into  verse. 


Pedro's  Plunge 

The  sky  was  a  dazzling  turquoise , 

The  sea  was  an  amethyst, 
And  the  palm-fringed  shore  of  a  Cuban 
bay 

By  the  westering  light  was  kissed, — 

When  a  steamboat  came  to  anchor 
In  the  curve  of  the  hot  white  sand. 

And  a  score  of  native  boats  put  out, 
By  swarthy  half-breeds  manned. 

Oh,  some  they  would  sell  their  luscious 
fruit, 

113 


SEA  AND  BAY 

And  some  they  would  sing  and  play, 
And  some  would  dive  for  a  copper  coin 
Flung  into  the  waveless  bay. 

But  one  like  a  bronze  Greek  statue. 

Disdaining  so  mean  a  prize, 
Gazed  up  at  a  girl  by  the  railing 

With  humble  passionate  eyes. 

Then  the  calm  of  the  scene  was  broken 
By  a  shout  from  a  dozen  throats: 

"Shark!  shark T^  and  the  splashing  swim- 
mers 
Were  tumbled  into  the  boaXs, 

The  girl  looked  out  at  the  water, 
No  shark  did  her  gaze  discern, 

She  looked  at  the  eager  Pedro 
And  saw  his  dark  eyes  burn. 

She  held  out  a  bright  gold  sovereign 
With  a  gesture  of  proud  command 

And  threw  it  out  from  the  vessel 

With  a  toss  of  her  slim  white  hand, 
114 


SEA 

The  blood  of  his  Spanish  fathers 
Still  pulsed  in  him  hold  and  hot. 

What  is  death  for  the  smile  of  a  woman? 
And  he  dived  like  a  plunging  shot, — 

He  dived,  and  the  winking  gold-piece 
Was  clutched  in  his  firm  brown  fist, 

And  he  turned  to  strike  for  the  surface 
With  a  sudden,  desperate  twist. 

The  beautiful  girl  applauded 

And  leaned  from  her  vantage-place 

As  he  rose,  but  she  saw  no  pleasure 
In  the  look  of  his  set  sad  face. 

The  water  was  cut  between  them 

By  a  fin  and  a  churning  tail, 
A     streak     of     white     gleamed     deadly 
bright. — 

The  girl  shrank  back  from  the  rail. 

That  instant  the  great  shark  got  him 
And  made  for  its  deep-sea  home, 

While  vainly  behind  them  shots  rang  out 
And  hissed  in  the  scarlet  foam. 
115 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Such    bitterness     was    mine,    nor    was    it 

helped 
By  failure  in  promotion.     Slowly  then 
My  mind  regained  its  vision  till  I  saw 
How  opportunity  had  passed  me  by 
While  I  was  dawdling,  so  I  took  my  chart 
And  got  my  bearings. — My  old  life  was 

gone, 
Ambition  and  sheer  youth  no  more  suf- 
ficed 
To    drive    me.      Rosamund's    flame    had 

burnt  away 
That  glad  unpausing  energy,  and  I  asked: 
Why  should  I  slave  more  hard  than  other 

men. 
I  could  have  worked  for  Rosamund,  but 

that  hope 
Had  sunk  forever,  and  I  knew  'twas  well. 
Yet,  as  it  seemed,  my  buoyancy  no  more 
Sufficed  to  bear  me  up  amid  the  crowd. 

One  day  soon  after  as  I  strolled  along 
The  level  deck,  a  little  girl  ran  out 
And  fell  against  me.     Looking  down,  I 
saw 

ii6 


SEA 

Blue  eyes,  part  wonder  and  part  merri- 
ment, 
Smile  up  with  a  pretty  confidence  that  I 
Like  all  the  world  was  friendly.    When  I 

paused, 
A  lady  from  a  neighboring  steamer-chair 
Called   out,    "Come   here    directly,    Dor- 
othy! 
Don't  stop  the  officer."    But  I  praised  the 

child 
And  begged  to  take  her  walking.     After 

that 
I  came  each  day;  the  father  too  I  met. 
I  never  hope  to  find  a  happier  three 
Than  they  were:      Dorothy,  some  three 

years  old. 
Gay  as  the  sunlight  on  the  dancing  waves; 
The  mother  quiet,  kind  and  equable 
Like  Hilda,  proud  of  all  her  daughter  did. 
But  deprecating  too  much  praise  from  me ; 
The  father  silent  with  a  deep  content 
As  one  who  had  no  more  to  ask  of  life. 
They  made  a  charmed  circle,  where  the 
world 

117 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Might  not  Intrude  Its  busy  selfishness. 
At  first  I  shared  the  habit  of  their  joy 
Which  I  so  long  had  lacked,  but  when  we 

reached 
New  York,  a  grief  that  almost  rose  to  fear 
Possessed  me,  thinking  that  my  life  would 

soon 
Be  lonelier  by  the  contrast.     I  resolved 
To  seek  the  bay  and  Hilda,  there  to  win 
If  possible  a  heaven  of  my  own. 
The  ocean  waves  of  life  were  rough,  I 

found. 
Good  for  the  buffets  which  a  man  should 

bear. 
But  bitter,  restless,  void  of  pity.     Now 
The  bay  no  more  seemed  narrow  than  the 

nest 
Seems  narrow  to  the  parent  bird;  and  she, 
Hilda  as  I  had  known  her,  seemed  more 

fair 
Than  any  lady  clad  In  gowns  of  silk. 
I  yearned  to  meet  love  where  I  had  found 

it  first, 
To  cool  my  lips  beside  the  pebbly  spring 
ii8 


SEA 

That  poured  refreshment  for  my  childish 
need. 

We  passed  the  Statue  and  I  said  good- 
bye 
To  my  three   friends,   a  blessing  in  my 

heart 
More  earnest  than  my  stammering  speech 

could  show. 
Returning  to  my  cabin — such  was  fate ! — 
I  found  a  letter  lying  for  me  there 
In  Hilda's  hand.    I  kissed  and  looked  at  it 
Before  I  opened.    After  many  months 
Of  silence,  she  my  old-time  love,  to  write 
Ere  I  could  come,  beseech  her  to  forgive 
My  long  neglect,  and  ask  her  to  be  mine ! 
At  last  I  opened,  read:    As  we  had  been 
Such   friends,    she   took   upon   herself   to 

write 
Instead  of  Phil. — Why  did  she  drag  in 

him? — 
To  share  with  me  at  once  the  happy  news 
Of — was  I  drunk,  or  dreaming,  or  gone 
mad? — 

119 


SEA  AND  BAY 

No,  there  it  stood;  the  smoothly-flowing 

style 
Had  swept  me  on  a  rock.    Too  late,  too 

late! 
She  wrote  that  she  was  pledged  to  marry 

—Phil! 
I  ground  my  teeth.    That  boy  to  cut  me 

out! — 
My  bumpkin  brother  win  the  girl  I  loved! 

Such  was  life's  irony.      It   was  hours 

before 
I  tried  to  reconcile  my  shattered  wits 
With    the    hard    truth.      Then    I    grew 

cynical : 
Young  lady,  since  you  take  so  poor  a  fish, 
'Tis  well  that  AldenCarr  escaped  your  net. 
Finally  in  self-torture  I  set  out 
To    try    if    Hilda's    purpose    might    not 

change, 
At  least  to  see  her.     There  she  was,  as 

sweet 
As  ever,  not  much  older,  but  more  grave 
With  the  solemnity  of  plighted  love. 

120 


SEA 

At  first  I  acted  strangely,  but  her  way 
Soon  won  me  from  all  rudeness.     More 

than  that, 
Fair  as  she  was,  I  felt  that  now  our  hearts 
No  more  were  kin,  nor  could  I  wish  them 

so. 
I  prized  my  sea-strength,  lonely  as  I  felt. 
Seeing  once  more  the  snugness  of  the  bay. 
Phil  was  a  man  now;  I  could  see  his  worth 
And  wish  him  well  in  his  great  happiness ; 
But  things  were  ordered  otherwise  for  me. 
No  doubt  Jane  spoiled  me,  for  she  won- 
dered so 
At    all   my   ways,    half-foreign    as   they 

seemed. 
And  what  I  had  seen  and  done   (much 

magnified 
By  sisterly  love) — in  short  I  was  for  her 
All  she  had  ever  hoped.     Indeed  she  said 
She  long  had  given  Hilda  up  for  me. 
Deciding  I  must  bring  some  lady  home 
From   foreign  parts.     Mother  was  also 

kind, 
Repressing  half  her  usual  discontent 
And  looking  on  me  with  a  shade  of  awe. 

121 


SEA  AND  BAY 

I  left  them,  but  returned  in  two  months' 

time 
To  celebrate  the  wedding.     Hilda  looked 
So  lovely  in  her  simple  village  dress 
I  hardly  dared  to  kiss  the  lips  of  her 
Who  now  should  be  my  sister,  not  my 

bride. 
I  shared  the  sober  feast,  shook  hands  with 

Phil 
And  bade  him  godspeed  in  his  new  estate. 
Then  I  was  off  again  in  double  doubt: 
Nor  sea  nor  bay  accorded  with  me  now; 
I  knew  no  other  counsel  in  my  heart 
Than  to  forge  blindly  on  in  stoic  mood, 
Half  careless  to  what  port  my  ship  might 

sail. 


122 


PART  III 
BAY  AND  SEA 


Song  of  Bay  and  Sea 

High    on   a   ridge   overlooking   both    the 
strands 

My  cottage  stands. 
In  front  the  restless  sea;  behind,  the  bay 

Where  quiet  ripples  play. 

In   storm   I   watch   the    billows    as    they 
charge 

The  rock-piled  marge. 
Until  tumultuous   action's   wine-like  glee 

Throbs  wild  and  strong  through  me. 

In  calm  I  see  the  sunset's  glimmering  ray 

Illume  the  bay, 
And  soft-hued  joys   of  youth  my  vision 
bless 

With  memory's  loveliness. 

Thus  all  of  life  comes  hack:  my  boyhood 
first. 
In  visions  nursed; 

125 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Then  the  hard  fights  amid  the  tempest*s 
foam 
On  'ventures  far  from  home. 

Therefore  I  pace  the  porch  in  calm  con- 
tent 
For  blessings  blent, 
Andy  thankful  for  the  gifts  which  earth 
has  given. 
Await  the  will  of  Heaven, 


I'm  fifty-five  now  as  I  stand  and  look 
In  retrospect  across  my  two-fold  life 
Of  bay  and  sea.     Fve  won  a  moderate 

place 
And  settled  back  into  a  mild  routine, 
Not  hoping  for  much  more,  but  satisfied 
To  live  my  fullest  life  in  those  I  love. — 
I'm  fifty-five,  but  when  I  reach  the  time 
Of  which  I  now  shall  write,  its  fears  and 

joys. 
The  time  between  fades  like  a  morning 

fog 
Before  the  ardor  of  remembered  youth. 
126 


BAY  AND  SEA 

Once  more  across  the  broad  Atlantic's 

back, 
But  now  with  heart  more  leaden  than  the 

clouds 
That  drifted  o'er  us  in  a  gloomy  shoal 
Like  ugly  fish.      My  courage,   long  sus- 
tained 
By  hurry  and  excitement,  had  died  out 
Within  me,  and  I  felt  that  I  was  sick. 
Tired  in  body  by  the  ceaseless  round 
Of  unremitting  duty,  worn  in  mind 
By  danger  and  responsible  command, 
I  now  had  naught  to  save  me  from  myself, 
No  hope,  no  gay  diversion.     Thus  it  was 
That  fever  took  me.     When  we  came  to 

France 
The  doctor  thought  it  wise  to  put  me  off 
At   Cherbourg,    where    the   hospital   was 

good 
And  I  might  ride  the  squall  out  with  a 

chance 
Of  quick  recovery.     It  was  well  advised. 
For   I    had    six   full   weeks    of   sleepless 

nights 
And  hot  interminable  days  of  pain. 
127 


SEA  AND  BAY 

The   torturing  thirst,   the   aching  In  my 

head, 
The  blank  routine    of   broth    and   bitter 

draughts ! 
How  ready  had  I  been  to  welcome  death, 
If  but  to  break  the  loathsome  chain  of 

hours 
That  bound  me  to  the  torment  of  my  bed! 
At  moments  when  the  searing  pain  grew 

dull, 
My  mind  seemed  somehow  to  detach  itself 
And,  hovering  off,  to  gaze  with  pity  down 
On  the  poor  body,  starved  and  sunken- 
eyed. 
I  felt  my  soul  might  easily  now  take  flight 
To  find  the  father  whom  I  had  not  known. 
In  dreams  like  this  I  often  seemed  to  lie 
Beneath  the  pigeon-loft,  hearing  the  coo 
And  flutter  as  I  heard  them  when  a  child. 
And   feeling   that    I    was   not    far   from 

heaven. 
Though  some  may  find  it  wrong,  I  had  no 

fear 
Of  death ;  my  faults  were  many,  as  I  knew, 
128 


BAY  AND  SEA 

But  God's  strong  love  was  round  me,  and 

my  trust 
In  His  forgiveness  left  no  room  for  doubt. 

Meanwhile   the  busy  nurses   did  their 
best 
To    save    me,    and    their    gentle    cooling 

hands 
Gave  me  continued  comfort.      They  be- 
longed 
To  some  kind  sisterhood ;  their  dress  and 

ways 
Were  quiet,  and  their  voices  very  calm. 
They  and  the  doctor  saved  me,  keeping  up 
My  spirit  till  with  some  faint  hope  of  life 
I  swallowed  what  they  gave  me.     For  a 

while 
I  was  indifferent,  but  I  liked  a  fight 
Of  any  honest  sort,  and  this  was  one : 
Keeping  my  head  above  the  tide  of  death. 
Then  followed  better  days,  until  one  morn 
Doctor  La  Grange  came  toward  me  with 

a  look 
So  cheerful  and  so  quizzical  that  I  knew 
129 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Some   kindness    was   in   store   before    he 

said, 
''Monsieur  has  gained  so  much  in  strength 

of  late 
That    I    have    brought    a    visitor.      My 

daughter 
Has  been  so  sorry  for  your  pain,  has  felt 
Such  interest,  that  I  thought  you  would  not 

mind 
If  she   should    see  you  on  the  road   to 

health." 
I  looked,  and  there,  as  timid  and  as  sweet 
As  a  white  rosebud  touched  with  bashful 

pink. 
She  stood  and  smiled  on  me.     The  rising 

tears 
Lent  crystal  freshness  to  her  wide  gray 

eyes. 
As,  leaning  lightly  toward  me  with  an  air 
That  breathed  of  fragrant  modesty,  she 

gave 
Her  hand  and  tried  to  speak,  and  flushed 

again. 
But  when  the  words  came,  they  were  firm 

and  clear: 

130 


BAY  AND  SEA 

'Toor  Monsieur  Carr-r,"    (how  delicate 

the  r!) 
"Father  has  told  me  how  you  bore  your 

pain 
So  bravely — you  so  young  and  far  from 

home. 
I  feared  so  much,  and  now  that  you  are 

safe, 
I  wish  that  I  might  help,  too — if  I  can. 
Do   you   like    flowers?"     And   there   she 

showed  a  bunch 
Of  rosebuds  that  might  each  have  been 

herself. 
Had    she    become    a    flower,    as    well    I 

thought 
She  might  have  easily  done.     For  me,  I 

gazed 
Not  on  the  gift  but  on  the  giver,  for 
When  one  is  weak,  the  spirit  speaks  direct 
Without  confusion  and  without  restraint. 
My  spirit  said,  '*I  never  saw  a  child 
So  clad  in  simple  loveliness  as  you, 
So  dainty  and  so  natural,  with  an  air 
Of  free  refinement,  winsome  self-control — 
A  garden  prettiness,  as  one  might  say, 
131 


SEA  AND  BAY 

With   something  finer   than   a   woodland 

flower, 
Yet  naught  more  studied."     She  divined 

my  look 
But  was  not  angry; — she   had  come  to 

please. 
I  took  the  roses,  held  them  to  my  lips. 
Managing  it  so  quickly  that  I  touched 
The  slender  fingers,  thanked  her  as  I  could 
And  tried  to  keep  her  longer.     How  she 

smiled 
With  drooping  lashes,  promising  to  come 
And  visit  me  again !    I  asked  her  name. 
She  told  me  "Seraphine." 

From  that  day  on 

My  strength  rose  like  a  tide.  She  called 
each  noon. 

Sometimes  she  talked,  sometimes  she  read 
to  me, 

Or  she  would  sing  me  graceful  chanson- 
nettes 

With  peasant  melodies  unvexed  by  art. 

I    wondered   she    could    sing    so,    uncon- 
strained 

132 


BAY  AND  SEA 

By  all  the  other  Invalids,  who  would  stare 
And  envy  me.     Then  she  would  always 

say: 
"It  is  not  quite  the  place  that  one  would 

choose. 
But  what  of  that? — I  sing  to  make  you 

well." 
How  fast  I  gained!    The  doctor  used  to 

say: 
"Ah !  that's  the  new  prescription.     Please 

affirm 
You  never  had  a  better  cordial  yet." 
Soon  I  was  able  to  be  wheeled  outside, 
And  oh  the  joy!  to  drink  the  living  air, 
To  drink  the  glowing  earth,  the  shining 

sky 
Into  my  pain-parched  being — best  of  all 
To  drink  the  sea,  with  eyes  and  ears  and 

lungs. 

But  wait,  I  go  too  fast ;  I  saw  no  sea 
At  first,  but  only  drab  and  dingy  walls. 
This  the  kind  doctor  noticed.     The  next 
day 

133 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Without  so  much  as  "by  your  leave"  he 

came, 
Put  me  into  a  carriage,  drove  me  off, 
Dosing  me  well  with  brandy  on  the  way. 
And  brought  me  to  his   cottage   on  the 

cliffs, 
Whence  the  blue  ocean  spread  without  a 

break. 
There  was  a  doctor  knew  his  trade,  for 

him 
Not   only    Nature's   drugs,    but    all   her 

powers 
Were  listed  in  the  pharmacopoeia ! 
Is  it  ungrateful  in  me  that  I  speak 
Of  air  and  ocean  first  as  having  wrought 
My  perfect  cure?    I  tell  but  as  it  was; 
The  lower  nature  must  support  the  higher, 
The  body  is  the  spirit's  pedestal. 
But    the    first    effort    of    my    fresh-won 

strength 
Was  to  turn  head  and  heart  toward  Sera- 

phine. 
A  nurse  came  with  me  from  the  hospital, 
But  Seraphine  was  by  me  half  the  day; 
134 


BAY  AND  SEA 

More  charming  in  her  home,  more  free  to 

show 
The  treasure  of  her  nature — how  the  child 
In  her  was  but  the  virgin  sheaf  of  petals 
That  wrapped  a  woman's  passionate  heart 

within. 
How  sweet  then  to  be  helpless,  have  her 

ask 
If  she  should  talk  to  me  or  read  or  sing. 
Her  sylph-like  figure  drifted  through  my 

thoughts 
As  though  to  music,  and  I  scarce  could  tell 
Whether  I  slept  or  woke,  my  dreams  of 

her 
Being  so  like,  and  her  true  self  so  fair. 
Her  face  was  haunted  by  an  elf  of  joy. 
Elusive,  peeping  from  a  dimple  here, 
Swinging  invisible  from  a  loosened  curl. 
Or  laughing  in  the  sparkle  of  her  eye. 

She  listened  to  my  stories  of  the  sea 
And  told  me  of  herself, — her  mother's 

death, 
Her  lessons  at  the  convent,  childish  hopes 
135 


SEA  AND  BAY 

And  maiden  disappointments;  for  her 
thought 

Flowed  unconstralnedly  from  a  mind  un- 
spoiled. 

While  I  think  back,  there  floats  into  my 
sense 

A  quaint  old  fisher  tune  with  peasant 
words 

Which  Seraphine  would  sing  me  as  I  lay 

Out  on  the  balcony,  and  the  time  drew 
near 

When  I  should  climb  back  home  across 
the  broad 

Blue  wall  of  water.    This  was  how  It  ran : 


Fisher  Song 

Wind  that  touches  my  lonely  lips, 
Bear  me  a  kiss  from  him. 

He  is  away  with  the  fishing  ships 
Out  in  the  distance  dim. 

Sigh,  sigh,  wind  of  the  sea. 

Bearing  my  sailor-hoy^ s  kiss  to  me. 
136 


BAY  AND  SEA 

Wind  that  cries  in  the  stormy  dark, 

Blow  not  so  wild  and  free. 
Steadily  speed  with  my  true-lovers  hark 

Over  the  waves  to  me. 
Speedy  speed,  wind  of  the  sea. 
Bearing  my  sailor-hoy  hack  to  me. 

The  words  are  trite  and  bare,  no  doubt 

the  tune 
Was  homely  too,  but  somehow  when  she 

sang 
A  plaintiveness  would  steal  into  her  voice 
Till  the  soft  tones  would  wreathe  about 

my  heart 
And  bind  it  fast  as  in  a  net  of  flowers. 

Each    day    as    through    my    veins    the 

strength  welled  up, 
There  welled  up  ever  higher  in  my  breast 
A  love  for  Seraphine,  a  tenderness 
For  all  her  pretty  ways,  a  sweet  desire 
For  what  her  finer  soul  could  give  to  mine; 
Her  instinct  for  the  beautiful,  her  tact 
In  showing  kindness   (our  New  England 

way 

137 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Makes  of  a  gift  a  burden,  but  with  her 
A  gently-spoken  word  upon  the  lips 
Was  natural  as  its  perfume  to  the  rose). 
I  needed  things  like  this.     I  did  not  want 
A  lady  for  the  cottage  I  should  build, 
But  I  did  want  that  rarer  sense  of  life 
Which  Brinton  first  had  shown  me, — the 

expanse 
Of  wider  sympathies  and  higher  thoughts, 
A  strain  of  music  for  the  intervals 
When  the  life-loom  should  pause,  a  rising- 
ground 
Of  discontent  from  which  I  could  survey 
My  faults  and  then  go  down  to  drive  them 

out. 
I  thought  this  over.    I  had  lost  my  rash 
Plunge-on-the-impulse  spirit,  so  that  now 
When  love  had  come  again,  I  knew  the 

heart 
Should  parley  with  the  head  ere  both  their 

fates 
Might  be  resolved   on.      And   I   thought 

then  too 
For  Seraphine.    She  was  not  in  the  way 

138 


BAY  AND  SEA 
To    marry    well.      Her    father — worthy 


man!- 


Had  little  save  the  stock  of  gratitude 
That  poor  folk  paid  him, — treasure  fit  for 

heaven, 
But   not   a    dower  to    tempt  the   second 

thoughts 
Of  marriage-minded  Frenchmen.     I  had 

saved 
A  tidy  little  sum  and  had  no  fear 
But  we  could  get  along.     And  yet  I  knew 
'Twas  a  big  risk: 

We  waited,  and  one  day 
The  love-rose  blossomed.     If  you  ask  me 

how, 
I  cannot  say.     A  child  of  three  years  old 
Knows  when  a  bud  has  opened,  and  what 

more 
Is  there  to  tell?    When  Seraphine  and  I, 
Subtly  constrained  by  Love,  had  yielded 

up 
Our  inmost  selves  to  serve  at  his  com- 
mand, 

139 


SEA  AND  BAY 

It  seemed  his  might  had  dwelt  in  us  of 
old; 

Born  in  the  dark,  fostered  by  sun  and  dew, 

Painfully  working  upward  through  the 
earth 

To  air.    Then  recognizing  more  and  more 

The  wonder  of  its  being,  it  had  grown 

Toward  the  fulfillment — stalk  and  leaf 
and  bud. 

At  last  when,  urged  by  passion's  deepen- 
ing thrill. 

The  petals  were  unclosed,  we  found  that 
love 

Was  just  the  perfect  flowering  of  our- 
selves 

Into  a  world  of  self-forgetfulness. 

We  seemed  to  breathe  out  fragrance  not 
our  own. 

Like  censers  in  the  dim-lit  shrine  of  God. 

For  many  a  midnight  Seraphine  and  I 
Had  searched  our  souls  and  left  off  still  in 

doubt 
Of  what  to  do.    We  met,  our  doubts  dis- 
solved 

140 


BAY  AND  SEA 

In  the  strong  certainty  of  mutual  love: 
We  could  not  live  apart.    From  that  time 

on 
All   barriers   were   but   details,    and    the 

worst 
Was  telling  the  good  doctor.     Seraphine, 
Though  every  glance  gave  token  she  was 

mine, 
Had  made  me  promise  not  to  seek  from 

her 
My  answer,  till  she  had  his  firm  consent. 
Those  were  two  anxious  days ;  he  had  not 

dreamed 
The  truth.    How  haggard  was  his  humor- 
ous face! 
Yet  never  hard  towards  me.     And  when 

he  saw 
How  trying  was  the  long  suspense  to  her, 
He  promised  to  decide.     He  came  to  me, 
Asked  of  my  home  and  people,  but  before 
I    found   my   voice,    consented,    took  my 

hand 
And  prayed  me  to  forgive  him.     He  was 

sure 

141 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Of  me  from  the  first,  he  said,  but  could 

not  bear 
To  lose  his  only  child  until  he  saw 
That  it  must  be  so.     Then  he  pulled  me 

down 
And  kissed  me  twice   (on  either  side  of 

the  nose) 
For  sign  I  was   his   son    from   that   time 

forth. 
I  nearly  laughed,  but  loved  him  all  the 

more. 

How  rapt  were  we  that  evening!  Sera- 
phine 
And  I  deep-lost  in  silent  happiness, 
Living  in  dream-long  glances,  dream-long 

sighs ; 
The  doctor,  half  amazed  to  see  his  girl 
A  woman,  murmuring  still  his  undersong 
Of  "Seraphine,  the  little  Seraphine!" 
Too  brief  the  hours.     Back,  back  once 
more  to  life, 
To  win  a  fitting  place  for  her  I  loved. 
We  parted,  I  exultant  in  the  thought 
142 


BAY  AND  SEA 

That  when  I  came  again   'twould  be  to 

claim 
My   bride.     How    short   the   intervening 

weeks, 
Filled  with  that  vision,  and  again — how 

long 
For  the  impatient  lover !    Poetry 
Grew  now  a  part  of  me.     The  pots  and 

pans 
I   purchased   for   our   house    (by   Jane's 

advice) 
Were  things  of  silver  which  the  imagined 

touch 
Of   her   white   hands   had   visibly   trans- 
formed. 
What  did  I  care  that  Mother  used  to  say 
In  accents  of  distrust,  "A  foreign  wife!" 
What  did  I  care  though  all  the  gossips 

talked 
Of  ^'Alden  Carr's  experiment"  and  hoped 
(But  most  unhopefully)    it  would  "turn 

out  well." 

The  time  passed  slowly,  but  it  passed, 
and  then 

143 


SEA  AND  BAY 

I  made  my  last  trip  as  a  bachelor, 

And  landed,  with  my  heart  and  head  and 

eyes 
All    whirling    different    ways.      I    hardly 

know 
From  that  time  till  a  full  month  afterward 
Just  where  or  who  I  was,  but  certainly 
The  day  came  round,  we  spoke  the  fateful 

words, 
And  Atwood  Brinton  slapped  me  on  the 

back 
With,  "How  does  it  feel  to  be  a  married 

man?" 
And  drawing  me  aside,  with  earnest  tones. 
Whispered,   "First  rate!  you've  bettered 

my  advice." 
Then  came  the  wedding  feast,  the  choked 

farewell. 
The  bustle  of  embarking,  and  at  last 
We  two  alone  upon  the  moving  ship. 
'Twas  then  I  felt  the  meaning  slowly  dawn 
Of  what  my  lips  had  promised;  and  my 

heart, 
Dizzy  with  dreams,  grew  sober  for  the 

day 

144 


BAY  AND  SEA 

Of  duty.     No,  the  honeymoon    (so  mis- 
called) 
Is  not  a  halcyon  holiday  for  a  man 
Who  sees  the  sphinx-like  future  gaze  on 

him 
Inscrutably. — And  Seraphine?    Oh,  she 
Was  happy  as  a  child  in  a  canoe 
That  floats  along  a  flowery  river-bank 
Under  the  very  bluest  of  June  skies. 
The  more  my  care,  then,  to  deserve  her 
trust. 

The  bay  once  more :   Mother  and  Jane 
and  Phil 
And  all  the  others.    I  had  bought  a  house 
That   stood  beside   the   lighthouse   on   a 

ledge 
Commanding  bay  and  sea  ahke.     In  front 
It  looked  straight  out  against  the  sharp- 
cut  rim 
Of  the  horizon;  from  the  beach  behind. 
The  bay  ran  inland,  widening  to  the  left 
Where  the  old  village  lay.    How  bright  it 
looked 

145 


SEA  AND  BAY 

The  morning  we  moved  in!     I  felt,  you 

see, 
I  needed  both — the  ocean  to  inspire. 
The  bay  to  comfort;  and  for  Seraphine, 
Though  steeped  in  quiet  charm,  she  too 

had  moods 
Of  mystery  and  of  daring,  for  her  soul 
Had  kinship  with  all  beauty,  wild  or  still. 

Is  married  life  a  paradise?    Well,  no. 
No  life  on  earth  is  that  for  long,  I  think. 
To  live  in  paradise  one  needs  a  love 
For  something  out  of  reach,  be  it  a  girl. 
Or  fame,  or  flawless  virtue,  or  the  gleam 
Of  fleeting  truth  and  beauty;  only  eyes 
That  dwell  on  heaven  may  shun  the  ills  of 

earth. 
Find  with  imagination's  telescope 
Some  far  perfection  for  your  paradise, 
A  planet  dead  these  million  million  years ! 
The  artist  does  not  paint  ideal  beauty, 
Though  he  adores  it;  no,  if  he  is  wise 
He    paints    a    lovely    face,    a    charming 

scene, — 

T46 


BAY  AND  SEA 

Good  flesh  and  earth,  but  clad  in  purer 

light. 
'Tis  so  with  woman;  the  "divine  idea," 
"The  eternal  feminine"  is  a  beacon-ray 
To  guide  us  mid  the  waves  of  blind  desire; 
But  bring  it  home,  it  will  not  cheer  your 

hearth. 
The  stars  were  meant  to  steer  by,  not  to 

warm. 
The  simple  truth  then  is  that  paradise 
Is  in  the  sky — and  we  must  live  on  earth. 

And  yet  how  can  I  write  so,  looking 

down 
As  from  a  hill  across  the  blooming  fields 
We    traversed?      Do    I    now   recall   the 

thorns 
That    scratched    us    in    that    galaxy    of 

flowers, 
Far,  far  too  thick  for  memory's  eyes  to 

count. 
That  spreads  unbroken  back  to  the  fair 

day 
When  first  my  home  was  hers?     'Twas 

well,  I  think, 

147 


SEA  AND  BAY 

We  made  our  way  through  thorns  and 
flowers  alike, 

Learning  to  know  each  other  and  our- 
selves. 

My  foreign  wife  had  tact  and  natural 

grace, 
Spoke  English  well,  and  in  the  true  French 

way 
Was  pleased  with  little  things ;  a  touch,  a 

glance, 
A  gay  nasturtium  vine,  a  song-sparrow*s 

note, 
The  outline  of  an  elm,  the  delicate  tint 
Of  rosy  clouds  reflected  liquidly — 
On  these  she  lived.     You  will  not  find  it 

strange 
Then  that  New  England,  only  grim  and 

bleak 
To  casual  eyes,  had  many  a  subtle  way 
To  recompense  her  for  the  loss  of  France. 
Like  land,  like  people.    When  my  mother 

saw 
How  ever-thoughtful    was    the    "foreign 

wife," 

148 


BAY  AND  SEA 

She  soon  unbent.     And  as  I  had  always 

hoped, 
My  wife  and  Jane  were  sisters  from  the 

start, 
And  never  faltered,  leaning  each  on  each 
And  learning:    Jane  a  wider  view  of  life, 
A  cheerfuller  code  of  duty;  Seraphine 
The  true  worth  of  our  bay-folk,   and  a 

host 
Of  household  details.     What  a  joy  it  was 
To  feel  their  harmony!     My  brother  Phil 
Broke  out  in  admiration  undisguised 
At   all  she   said  and  did:   the   dress   she 

wore, 
So  soft  in  hue,  so  simple  in  design, 
That  fell  from  throat  to  wrist  so  flow- 

ingly, 
So  full  of  ease  from  shoulder  to  the  poise 
Of  her  light  instep ;  or  her  voice  a-thrill 
With  child-like  happiness — at  the  merest 

phrase 
He'd  start  and  turn  in  laughable  surprise. 
Just  as  a  dog  turns  round  when  some  one 

sings. 

149 


SEA  AND  BAY 

He  worshipped  Hilda  with  a  high  respect 
That  could  not  waver,  but  from  time  to 

time, 
After  our  Sunday  dinner  as  we  sat 
And  smoked,  he'd  say,  "I  wonder  why  it  is 
That  Hilda's  dresses  look  so  angular. 
She  hasn't  got  the  knack,  I  guess."  Again, 
"I  like  to  hear  a  voice  go  up  and  down; 
It  makes  you  so  you  don't  get  tired."    Of 

course 
I  didn't  need  such  little  hints  as  these 
To  justify  my  choice,  but  still  his  words 
Helped  to  support  me  in  the  firm  belief 
That  bay-folks  want  a  world  outside  their 

own, 
When  they  divine   it.      As   to  that  wise 

flock. 
The  village  gossips,  whom  we  had  to  meet, 
They  owned  her  manners  were  agreeable. 

A  hurried  month  was  all  that  I  could 
spare 
To  found  our  little  home.     The  bitterest 

pang 
I  ever  felt  was  leaving  Seraphine 
150 


BAY  AND  SEA 

To  make  her  way  alone  In  the  new  land, 
While  I  returned  to  win  our  daily  bread 
By  bitter  wrestling  with  the  bitter  sea. 

Ringed  by  an  amphitheatre  of  blue, 
I  fought  my  gladiator  fights.     The  dome. 
So  splendid  and  so  various  with  the  glow 
Of  wonder-dreams  and  proud  realities, 
Had  narrowed  to  a  cell,  for  Nature's  face 
Was  loveless  as  a  woman's  that  forgets. 
While  I  had  served  her  as  a  queen,  nor 

owned 
Other  allegiance,  Lady  Ocean  smiled 
With  favor  on  her  minion;  but  as  soon 
As  I  had  formed  a  deeper,  closer  tie 
With  a  young  waiting-damsel  of  her  court. 
She  paid  my  former  service  with  disdain. 
In  youth  beside   the  bay  my  hopes  had 

flown 
Far  out  to  sea,  but  now  upon  the  sea 
My  hopes  were  ever  winging  toward  the 

bay. 

I  lived  on  letters.    'Twas  a  new  delight 
To  see  my  bay  pictured  in  those  fond  eyes 
151 


SEA  AND  BAY 

That  looked  upon  me  as  I  read,  to  drink 
The   scene    I   knew    in    the   swift-welling 

words 
That  overflowed  the  lips  of  Seraphine. 
For  as  she  spoke  she  wrote,  the  very  tones 
Of  each  inflection  quaintly  Gallicized, 
The  little  trips  in  grammar  like  the  steps 
Of  girls  that  dance  among  the  swaying 

grass 
For  mere  delight,  forgetting  all  the  rules 
Of    indoor    dancing-school — each    grace, 

each  fault 
(As  purists  might  have  said)  came  skip- 
ping in 
Like    round-a-rosy   through   the   crowded 

page. 
So  I  lived  on  a  whole  long  year,  the  while 
I  could  but  peep  into  the  enshrining  bay. 
Twice  precious  with  its  jewel. 

When  at  last 
My  furlough  came  again,  I  found  that  all 
Had  not  gone  well.  Poor  little  Seraphine ! 
The  bay-folk  had  no  gentleness,  no  love 
Of  beauty,  not  a  thought  beyond  them- 
selves 

152 


BAY  AND  SEA 

And  their  small  neighborhood,   no  sym- 
pathy 
Even  for  what  they  saw ;  their  round  of 

life 
Knew  not  a  gleam  of  joy.    Yes,  Jane  was 

kind. 
But  oh  so  practical !  so  much  she  found 
To  do,  so  little  time  she  left  for  play. 
*'She  made  me  buy  some  chickens''   (this, 

it  seemed, 
Had  been  a  crucial  point),  "and  they  get 

out 
And  spoil  my  flowers."    I  had  to  smile  at 

that, 
Thinking  of  Jane's  New  England  thrifti- 

ness, 
And  Seraphlne  so  anxious  to  do  right 
And  save  for  me,  yet  feeling  in  her  heart 
A  desperate  anger  at  the  silly  fowls 
That  scratched  among  her  dahlias. 

Then,  poor  Phil, 
Trying  to  cheer  my  lonely  wife,  had  roused 
In  Hilda's  breast  an  Imp  of  jealousy. 
Who,  half  ashamed  to  show  his  ugly  head, 
153 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Made  trouble  none  the  less.     Hilda  had 

marked 
A  charm,  a  sympathy  In  Seraphine 
She  could  not  understand.     (She  told  me 

this 
Herself  in  better  days.)    She  saw  that  Phil 
Responded,  for  he  did  most  guilelessly. 
She  could  not  see  then  that  this  charm  was 

but 
The  happy  radiance  of  a  happy  soul. — 
Well,  I've  forgiven  her  now,  but  many  a 

time 
It  maddened  me  to  watch  how  Hilda  froze 
Each  little  harmless  burst  of  merriment. 
Much  as  a  grim  bright  day  of  early  March 
Might     chill      a     shrinking     snow-drop. 

Mother  too. 
When  told,  kept  on  repeating  helplessly: 
"She  doesn't  like  our  ways;  I  ain't  sur- 
prised." 
I  wasn't  either.     Well,  but — what  to  do? 

"There's  no  one  I  can  sing  to  when  you 
go," 

154 


BAY  AND  SEA 

Sighed  Seraphlne  one  evening.     There  I 
took 

The  cue:  why  shouldn't  she  give  lessons 
here? 

We  tried,  and  soon  found  pupils  of  the 
best: 

Squire  Ogden's  niece,  and  Doctor  Well- 
man's  wife, 

And  Nora  Gray,  whoM  been  to  school  in 
town. 

They  liked  our  cosy  house,  admired  the 
view 

And  Brinton's  picture,  our  best  wedding 

gift; 
But  most  of  all  they  took  to  Seraphine, 
Invited  her  to  tea,  or  both  of  us 
To  dinner,  where  we  saw  a  different  set 
That  talked  of  other  things  than  cows  and 

crops 
And  neighbors'  ailments.    Then  my  moth- 
er's friends 
Began  to  hint  we  thought  ourselves  too 

good 
For  their  society;  but  it  was  not  so, 
155 


SEA  AND  BAY 

'Twas  but  that  Seraphlne  had  felt  the  call 
Of  like  to  like. 

I  went  off  more  at  ease 
About  our  future,  still  my  mind  was  fixed 
That  somehow  I  had  got  to  find  a  way 
To  live  at  home.    You  see,  before  I  left, 
My  wife  had  whispered  something  in  the 

dark — 
Just  an  idea,  a  hope,  and  after  that 
I  couldn't  bear  to  think,  if  children  came, 
That  Seraphine  must  be  there  all  alone. 
And  they  grow  up  scarce  knowing  me  by 

sight; 
It  would  be  wicked,  that  was  how  I  felt. 
When  a  determination  takes  deep  root, 
It  mostly  grows,  unless  the  soil  is  bad. 
From  a  small  boy,  I'd  always  had  a  craze 
For  lighthouses,  and  so  in  foreign  lands 
I'd  noticed  where  they  were  built,  and  how 

and  why, 
And  talked  about  them.    Now  I  gathered 

up 
All  I  could  find  and  wrote  a  sort  of  book, 
Telling  the  risks  and  dangers  of  the  life, 

156 


BAY  AND  SEA 

And  showing  how  along  the  New  England 

coast 
Things   might   be   better.     What   should 

come  of  this 
But  I  was  sent  for  down  at  Washington 
To  talk  to  a  committee?    After  that 
I  took  six  months  to  study  up  a  bit, 
Passed  an  examination  and  became — 
Lighthouse  Inspector,  which  I  have  been 

by  now 
These  twenty  years.     I  got  a  route  near 

home 
So  I  could  live  there  nearly  all  the  time, 
Making  my  rounds  and  writing  my   re- 
ports. 

Some  years  it  took  to  see  the  whole 

thing  through, 
And  in  the  first  our  daughter  Jane  was 

born, 
While  I  was  on  the  ocean.    What  a  jump 
I  gave  when  I  got  the  news!     I  pinched 

myself. 
Sat  down,  stood  up,  grinned  like  a  fool  no 

doubt ; — 

157 


SEA  AND  BAY 

It  seemed  so  unaccountable  to  think 
That  I  was  a  father.  But  in  ten  days  more 
I  held  her  in  my  arms,  the  odd  pink  mite 
That  was  to  be  a  woman,  if  God  willed, 
And  live  her  hfe,  have  children  in  her  turn, 
A  link  in  the  great  chain.  Most  wonderful 
And  solemn!     When  I  knelt  beside  the 

crib 
And  prayed,  'twas  hardly  more  in  grati- 
tude 
Than  to  ask  help  and  strength  for  what 

should  come. — 
In  all  the  greatest  moments  of  our  life 
It's  not  the  present  that  concerns  us  most. 
But  what's  to  follow.    That's  the  way  with 

birth. 
With  marriage  and  with  work.    Why  not 

with  death? 
Is  that  to  be  the  only  great  event 
That  points  no  farther,  a  sheer  precipice 
Where  all  our  hopes  dash  down  and  dis- 
appear? 
I  can't  beheve  It. — How  my  mind  runs  off 
To    sudden   thoughts   like   these!      They 
come  themselves, 

158 


BAY  AND  SEA 

As  I  get  older,  when  I  walk  alone, — 
Often  refreshing,  always  comforting; 
Which  makes  me  think  they're  wafted  to 

our  hearts 
By  grace  divine  from  some  far  lands  of 

truth. 

Never  had  I  so  worshipped  Seraphlne 
As  then  I  did,  sharing  her  deeper  joy 
In  our  great  blessing.     What  a  softened 

light 
Haloed  her  resting  head!    her  eyes  how 

deep ! 
Her  grace  how  like  an  angel's !  as  she  lay 
And  with  a  weak  but  never-weary  arm 
Pillowed  the  little  one. — The  world  is  bad. 
The  world  Is  harsh,  but  never  was  the  time 
That  men  could  look  unmoved  at  such  a 

scene. 
What  holler  sign  to  keep  our  nature  pure 
Than  such  a  picture  ?    Are  we  In  the  right, 
We  Protestants,  to  keep  it  out  of  church? 

We've  sailed  on  steadily  from  that  fair 
time, 

159 


SEA  AND  BAY 

My   little   wife    and    I.      More    children 

came: 
A  boy,  a  girl,  and  last,  another  boy. 
Our  house  Is  larger  and  our  hearts  as  well, 
I  hope,  though  none  of  our  new  friends  can 

fill 
The  place  that  Brinton  held.     Of  all  the 

shocks 
That  broke  our  quiet  progress  none  has 

struck 
So  hard  as  did  the  news  that  he'd  gone 

down 
Alone  and  far  away.    A  gallant  soul ! 
True  to  his  kind,  to  Nature  and  to  God. 
Without  his  help  I  never  could  have  been 
The  half  of  my  best  self,  'twas  he  that 

found 
What  no  one  knew  was  there,  I  least  of 

all. 
Sometimes  I've  stood  off  to  admire  the  job 
That  Brinton  made  of  me,  for  'twas  his 

word 
That  drove  me   forth  to  seek  a  larger 

world, 

1 60 


BAY  AND  SEA 

And    seeking    find    myself;    his    wisdom 

showed 
My  faults  and  made  me  strive  to  weed 

them  out, 
And  bring  to  fruit  the  hidden  seeds  of 

good. 
I'm  glad  I  never  can  be  satisfied 
With  settling  back,  I'm  thankful  that  my 

boys 
Will  have  a  better  start  than  I  could  get, 
I'm  glad  that  in  a  life  of  steady  work 
There  has  been  time  for  beauty,  room  for 

joy. 

And   tolerance,    too,    for    men    of   other 

moulds. 
All  this  is  Atwood  Brinton,  he  himself. 
Not  Alden  Carr  at  all,  as  any  one 
Can  see.    His  vital  spirit  in  my  veins 
Is  pulsing  ever,  and  that's  why  perhaps 
I  love  him  better  while  I  miss  him  less. 

Work  that  is   cheery   as   the   morning 
breeze. 
Rest  that  is  tranquil  as  the  evening  sky, 
A  wife  he  loves,  and  children  growing  up 
i6i 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Around  them,   time   for  nature   and  for 
friends; 

These  and  the  sense  of  something  yet  un- 
known— 

A  world  of  thought  he  can  but  half  divine, 

A  realm  of  beauty  he  but  dimly  sees — 

All  these  must  blend,  I  think,  to  make  the 
life 

That  brings  one  nearest  to  the  heart  of 
things. 

A  man  who   toils   with  blind,   impatient 
strength 

Will  waste   himself,    and   one   who   only 
dreams 

Will  feel  his  sinews  fail  in  time  of  stress. 

I  haven't  done  much,  and  I  haven't  been, 

Heaven  knows,  half  equal  to  my  happi- 
ness : 

But  what  Fve  done,  IVe  done  from  aiming 
high 

And  getting  strength  in  rest  and  soUtude; 

And  what  Fve  been,   I've  been  through 
honest  work 

To  make  my  dreams  come  true.     That's 
why  I  say: 

162 


BAY  AND  SEA 
Blest  is  the  man  who  can  both  do  and  be. 

From  thirty-five  one's  course  don't  alter 

much. 
Landmarks  there  were.     Twice  we  went 

back  to  France 
To  visit  the  old  doctor, — hearty  still, 
He  writes  us,  though  he  has  not  ventured 

yet 
To  cross  in  turn  and  see  us  in  our  home. 
And  Mother  died.    Our  greatest  grief  was 

then 
That  no  true  sorrow  came.     We  scarce 

had  known 
A  word  of  love  to  leave  her  querulous  lips. 
Life  had  been  hard  for  her,  she  had  done 

her  best. 
But  always  grudgingly;  our  gratitude 
We   paid  with  lavish  words — but  not   a 

tear. 
She    had   not   looked    above    the    vexing 

swarms 
Of  household  troubles,  even  toward  the 

end, 

163 


SEA  AND  BAY 

When  Phil  and  I  had  made  things  easy. 

No, 
She  had  not  planted  love  and  might  not 

reap. 

The  children  grew  and  thrived  and  went 
to  school 
As  other  children  do.    No  one  would  care 
To  read  the  record  of  their  words  and 

deeds, — 
Their     grand     achievements,     their     un- 
equalled wit! — 
Which,  like  tradition,  Seraphine  and  I 
Still  hold  in  our  remembrance,  to  be  lost 
No  doubt  as  all  such  records  needs  must 

be. 
And  yet  these  Lesser  Iliads  that  are  sung 
Each  day  by  baby  lips  to  loving  hearts. 
These  epics  of  the  Isle  of  Lilliput, — 
How  often  has  their  murmur  soothed  our 

cares 
With  soft  iEolian  lisp?    Their  gleams  of 

joy 
And  fairy  fancy,  little  flowers  of  trust. 
The  freely-pouring  stream  of  love  for  all, 
164 


BAY  AND  SEA 

And  the  strange  vision  of  our  purest  hopes 
Flitting  like  butterflies  in  childish  forms — 
What  fabled  realm  of  heroes  or  of  saints 
Has  raised  us  more  above  our  baser  selves 
Than  childhood's  land  of  truth  and  inno- 
cence ? 

My  work?    At  first  my  way  was  sharp 
and  strict, 
A  cold,  relentless  hunting  out  of  faults. 
But  soon  I  learned  to  take  things  differ- 
ently : 
To  test  the  very  nature  of  a  man, 
His  pride  and  sense  of  duty;  these  assured. 
To  overlook  a  trivial  slip  or  two. 
A  lighthouse  man  who  never  once  forgets 
That  lives  depend  upon  a  fog-horn's  blast. 
And  ships  upon  the  timing  of  a  flash, — 
He  is  the  man  I  look  for.    Now  I  search 
An  eye  more  keenly  than  a  term  report. 
Result,  I'm  better  liked  and  more  obeyed. 

But,  when  all's  said,  there's  really  not 
much  chance 

165 


SEA  AND  BAY 

To  be  one's  self  in  work,  where  all  men 

don 
Their  uniforms  of  office  and  are  merged 
Into  the  solid  army  of  their  kind; 
The  truer  moments  come  when  each  is  free 
To  follow  his  own  path.  And  this  is  mine: 
To  live  a  man  where  once  I  lived  a  boy, 
Beside  the  bay,  and  yet  with  eager  soul 
To  taste  the  sea's  wild  tang.     I  love  my 

wife 
No  less  because,  with  all  her  hearthside 

calm, 
She  has  not  lost  through  age  and  sordid 

cares 
The   spice   of   foreign   sweetness,   like    a 

breath 
Of  the  south  wind  that  creeps  on  sultry 

days 
Across  the  morning  blueness  of  the  sea. 
Breaking  the  placid  mirror  into  smiles 
Innumerable. — How  often  do  I  stand 
Out  on  the  cliff  there  by  the  lighthouse 

tower 
To  see  and  feel  and  breathe  it!     Oh  IVe 

tried 

i66 


BAY  AND  SEA 

A  dozen  times  to  keep  the  thoughts  that 

come, 
But  there's  a  mingling  feel  of  fresh  and 

smooth 
I've  never  caught.    My  best  was  only  this : 


A  Sea  Wind  from  the  South 


In  the  noontide  heat  the  gray  difs  tremble, 

Unsure  of  shape; 
Their  hulks  an  anchored  fleet  resemble, 

Ranged  cape  on  cape. 
The  still  wave  glints  with  steely  tints, 

Yon  sail  hangs  slack, 
While  the  smoke  climbs  high  to  a  dazzling 
sky 

From  a  steamer^ s  stack. 

•  ••••• 

But  now  my  glance 

Perceives   across   that  shining  broad  ex- 
panse 
A  quickening  breath 

167 


SEA  AND  BAY 

That  breaks  the  languorous  reign  of  mid- 
day death. 

For  the  dusk  of  the  south  wind^s  promise 

Creeps  landward  steadily. 
I  can  feel  beforehand  the  well-known  touch 

Of  its  magic  sympathy; 
Sweet    from    the    smile    of    the    indolent 
south, 

Cool  with  the  balm  of  the  sea — 
Strong  from  the  rays  of  the  passionate 
south, 

Clean  with  the  salt  of  the  sea. 

II 

It   comes,    and   the    lazy   smoke    of   the 
steamer 

Is  wafted  back; 
It  fills  the  sail  and  flutters  the  streamer 

Of  the  fishing -smack. 
More  near,  more  near!    At  last  'tis  here. 

Like  a  longed-for  bride. 
The  sense  it  enfolds  and  the  heart  it  holds 

In  its  rushing  tide. 


i68 


BAY  AND  SEA 

E^en  so  each  day 

The  wind  of  love  breathes  in  upon  my  hay, 

Steady  and  sure. 

As  gentle  as  the  south  wind  and  as  pure. 

For  the  low  light  voice  of  a  woman 

And  the  touch  of  her  hands  to  me 
Have  the  nearness  and  the  remoteness 

Of  the  wind  with  its  mystery; 
Rich  as  the  glow  of  the  opulent  south, 

Fresh  as  the  virgin  sea — 
Vague   with    the    charm    of   the    dreamy 
south, 

Soft  with  the  kiss  of  the  sea. 

One's  later  life  is  less  a  broken  surge 
Of  acts  that  foam  and  follow  each  on  each 
Than  a  wide  calm  of  being.    Time  glides 

on 
Above  us  like  a  tranquil  afternoon 
With  shifting  lights  and  shadows,  but  on 

us 
The  colors  flow  together  as  the  greens 
And  purples  just  beyond  the  outer  bar. 
169 


SEA  AND  BAY 

'Tis  well,  for  mid  the   fretful  waves  of 

youth, 
Through  which  we  are  tossed  from  hour 

to  restless  hour. 
We  lose  all  thought  of  things  that  do  not 

change : 
Of  truth  and  beauty,  of  the  soul  and  God. 
Fighting  amid  the  breakers  we  forget 
That  there  above  the  storm  the  sky  is  blue. 
But  now  the  soul,   sense-weary,   passion- 
freed. 
Seeks   like    a   thirsty   child   the   Well   of 

Life, — 
Love,  the  divine,  the  all-pervading  Soul 
That  dwells  in  man  and  Nature,  and  that 

speaks 
To  mortal  hearts  in   symbols:     With  a 

flower, 
To  show  us  how  the  tiniest  form  reflects 
The  perfect  whole  of  beauty;  with  a  star, 
A  sunset  on  the  sea,  to  thrill  us  deep 
With  joy,  with  splendid  sadness  and  with 

awe. 
But  more  than  these  the  willing  sacrifice 
Of  man  for  men  uplifts  us,  till  at  last 
170 


BAY  AND  SEA 

We  half  attain  to  see  that  holier  Love 
Nailed  to  the  Cross,  forgiving  them  that 
slay. 

There's  few  things  harder  than  to  note 

the  wrongs 
Of  earth  and  feel  how  powerless  are  we, 
Save  now  and  then  a  hero  or  a  saint, 
To  right  them.    When  a  man  in  his  own 

strength 
Attempts  it,  can  we  wonder  if  he  ends 
In  desperation?    Most  of  us,  it  seems. 
Can  do  no  more  than  trust,  and  say  our 

prayers. 
And  do  our  daily  tasks.     No  human  back 
Can  bear  the  weight  of  the  world's  misery. 
We  stumble  even  with  the  smallest  loads. 
Trying  to  act  an  honest,  useful  part 
On  a  town  council  or  a  parish  board. 
It's  queer  a  man  can  hardly  do  just  right 
One   single   hour.     Another   thing   that's 

hard 
Is  choosing  between  duties :  town  or  sons. 
Wife  or  profession?    But  as  years  roll  on, 
171 


SEA  AND  BAY 

I've   come  to   spend  my   extra   hours   at 

home, 
Where  I'm  best  known,  most  loved,  can 

do  most  good. 
And  if  I'm  happiest  there — well,  joy's  no 

sin. 

Jane's  twenty-two  now,  with  her  moth- 
er's grace 
And  love  for  music;  Brinton's  coming  on 
At  school — he'll  go  to  Harvard  in  good 

time, 
I  hope — ;  and  then  there's  Margery  and 

Phil: 
A  good  full  nest  of  us!     When  supper's 

done, 
Before  the  hour  for  lessons  we  all  join 
In  music.     First  the  children  take  their 

turns. 
And    lastly    mother    sings    her    simplest 

songs, 
The  wistful  little  peasant  songs  of  France 
That  no  one  ever  tires  of.    Aunty  Jane 
Has  mostly  happened  in  by  then.     She's 

stayed 

172 


BAY  AND  SEA 

Unmarried, — rather  proud  of  It,  I  think; 
She's  had  a-many  chances  to  be  sure. 
The  children  go  to  lessons,  and  we  three 
Settle  back  cosily  before  the  fire 
To    talk   things    over.     When    the   clock 

strikes  eight, 
I  see  Jane  home  to  PhlPs  house — the  big 

farm 
He  bought  last  year — and  stroll  a  bit  to 

watch 
The   moonlight   on    the    ocean's    heaving 

breast. 
Or  on  the  other  side  the  steady  lamps 
That  glow  upon  the  black  unrlppling  bay. 

I  drop  more  often  Into  scribbling  verse 
These  days,  especially  In  the  summer  time 
When  I've  a  rest  between  Inspection  trips. 
I  sit  here  on  the  porch  and  look,  and  look 
Across  the  bay,  until  my  prisoned  thoughts 
Escape  into  the  aether,   and  there  comes 
A  sense  of  kinship  with  the  things  I  see, 
As  Nature  draws  me  closer  to  her  breast, 
Whispering  me  of  things  I  cannot  tell 
Even  to  Seraphlne.    You  know  those  days 
173 


SEA  AND  BAY 

In  August  when  the  faint-winged  breeze 

holds  off 
Till  afternoon?    I  tried  once  to  infuse 
The  breath  of  that  elusive  breathlessness 
Into  a  song  called  ''Noonride  Ecstasy." 

Noontide  Ecstasy 

White  sails,  white  sails,  o^er  the  hay  that 
shimmer, 
Softly  enfolded  in  warm  noon  light. 
Your  vague  reflection,  growing  ever  dim- 
mer, 
Lures  across  the  ripples  my  spell-hound 
sight. 

White  clouds,  white  clouds,  poised  in  lofty 
station, 
Purer,  suhtler  is  the  charm  you  wear; 
Far  though  you  he,  my  fond  imagination 
Breathes    the    enchantment    of    your 
dream-heights  rare. 

White  thoughts,  white  thoughts,  o^er  the 
world  that  hover, 
174 


BAY  AND  SEA 

Vision  that  melts  in  bright  far  blue, 
Fair  as  the  form  of  maiden  to  her  lover, 
Draw  with  tranquil  beauty  my  longing 
soul  to  you, 

I'm  not  a  poet,  but  I  somehow  think 
There's  poetry  in  the  soul  of  every  man, 
If  only  he  knew  how  to  get  it  out. 
It  stands  to  reason  people  feel  alike, 
And  every  one  is  happier  when  he  finds 
The  thoughts  he  loved  but  hardly  dared  to 

trust 
Set  boldly  on  the  page.     To  write  one's 

best. 
Besides,  is  more  than  half  to  be  one's  best. 
Something  I  wrote  once,  when  the  heavens 

were  clear 
And  every  mote  of  star-dust  shone  dis- 
tinct 
Along  the  purple  highroad  of  the  night, 
That  gave  me  pleasure.    'Twas  a  curious 

thought. 
But,  as  it  seemed,  a  true  thought  none  the 
less. 

175 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Starlight  Meditation 

Fair  are  the  stars!   yon  scattered  silvery 
swarm 
Caught  in  the  wide  untremhling  web  of 
night, 
That  through  the  pearly  dimness  faint  and 
warm 
Shed  upon  wave  and  shore  their  efflu- 
ence bright. 

Fair  are  the  lights!  whatever  each  may 
be: 
Gay  colored  motes  that  back  and  for- 
ward roam. 
Or  dull  ship-lanterns  burning  fixedly, 
White  street  lights  and  the  yellow  lamps 
of  home. 

Nature  and  modern  man  have  wrought  the 
scene. 
We     think     their     ways     discordant. 
Wherefore  so? 
Is  the  stars*  radiance,  pallid  and  serene, 
176 


BAY  AND  SEA 

Marred   by    the    mirrored   lamplight's 
holder  glow? 

Nay,  for  they   blend   to   form    a  perfect 

whole, 
A  unity  of  beauty  in  the  souL 

But  here  I'm  maundering,  maundering, 

with  no  more 
To  tell,  and  very  little  else  to  say. 
These  last  few  words  shall  finish. — I  have 

lost 
My  strong  New  England  accent,  what  with 

books. 
Talking  with  Seraphine,  and  seeing  much 
Of  outside  folks;  but  always  at  the  heart 
I'm  loyal  to  my  breeding.     Brinton  said 
No  country  was  as  beautiful  as  this. 
Which  makes  me  bold  to  say  it  after  him. 
I  love  it  in  the  large  and  in  the  small: 
The   broad,   low-oudined  hills;   the   bay, 

a-swim 
With  purest  color,  every  island  shape 
Of  gauntness  half  concealed  by  straggling 

pines. 

177 


SEA  AND  BAY 

I  love  each  separate  curve  of  sandy  shore, 
Each  grove  and  simple  farmhouse,  every 

field 
And  wall  and  bush  and  stone  and  blade  of 

grass. 
Early  remembrance  now  has  grown  more 

sweet 
From     walks     with     Seraphine,     whose 

thoughtful  eyes 
Look  so  much  deeper  into  all  they  see. 
I  love  the  cliffs,  battered  and  torn  and 

cleft. 
But  rising  from  the  ocean  with  stern  joy. 
As  still  they  fling  the  spent  and  shattered 

waves 
Back  from  the  foaming  rampart.     And  I 

love 
The  gullies  where  the  stalwart  blackfish 

hide  ; 
No  fun  more  keen  than  casting  through 

the  surf 
And   reeling  in   the  big  ones,   while   the 

spray 
Strums  with  rude  fingers  on  the  tautened 

line — 

178 


BAY  AND  SEA 

(Fve  a  queer  picture  by  a  Japanese 
That  shows  a  great  wave  rearing  up  and 

up 
Just  like   a   dragon  with   his   claws    out- 
spread.) 
Then  the  clean  beaches  with  their  speckled 

sand, 
Their  moist  round  pebbles  and  the  flutter- 
ing strips 
Of  quaintly  ruffled  sea-weed ! 

Ah,  the  folks 
That  come  in  June  admire  the  things  they 

see, 
But  theyVe  not  known  the  splendor  of  the 

fall. 
And  the  bleak  winter  gales  that  sift  the 

soul 
And  nerve  the  heart  like  danger — those 

are  days 
That  make  us  glad  of  springtime  when  it 

comes. 
Such  is  New  England,  such  the  little  bay 
For  which  I've  left  the  wide  and  stormy 

world. 
But  still  within  my  being  runs  the  throb 
179 


SEA  AND  BAY 

Of  memories  beating  from  that  larger  life 
Like  breakers  from  the  ocean — how  they 

stir 
With  unforgotten  joys  of  former  years! 
All  the  more  cosy  is  my  sheltered  bay 
When  the  vast  surge  is  roaring.     Thus  I 

live 
Half   in   the   present,   half   in   memory's 

world ; 
So  that  at  last  within  me  bay  and  sea, 
My    peaceful    boyhood    and    my    stormy 

prime, 
Unite  their  warring  natures  and  are  one. 


i8o 


ENVOI 

'Tis  autumn,  and  my  reminiscent  dreams 
Have  drifted  down  the  late  September  sky. 
The  towering  billows  of  the  equinox 
Have  burst  and  foamed  and  sunk,  till  now 

the  sea 
Is  quiet  and  the  air  is  sharp  and  clear. 
'Tis  time  then  you  and  I  should  say  fare- 
well 
And  follow  each  his  fortunes  as  before, 
Eddying  amid  the  whirl  of  things  we  call 
Reality. 

So,  each  apart,  we  sail 
From  out  our  little  bay  of  poetry 
(Which,  although  bare  and  narrow,  yet 

was  home) 
Into  the  strange  bewildering  sea  of  fact 
That  trebly  tests  our  moral  seamanship, 
Sweeping  us  from  the  sheltering  port  of 

faith 

i8l 


SEA  AND  BAY 

And  threatening  still  to  swallow  up  the 
soul. 

Suppose,  too,  that  the  whole  of  life  on 

earth 
Is  but  a  bay  from  which  we  must  put  forth 
Into  the  ocean  of  eternity. — 
The  thought  is  lonely.      May  we  never 

hope 
That  from  yon  wide,  inhospitable  void 
We  shall  win  back  into  the  life  we  knew, 
Shall  find  once  more  the  bay  of  human 

love, — 
Blest  with  diviner  beauty,  but  the  same 
To   our   transfigured  hearts? — It   hardly 

seems 
That    Heaven    could    be    Heaven    unless 

'twere  so. 


FINIS 


l82 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.00  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


JAN  23    1946 


LD  21-100m-12,'43  (8796s) 


